Blood and Grace
by Aini NuFire
Summary: What starts as a run-of-the-mill vampire hunt turns deadly when Cas goes missing. Why was the vamp targeting other monsters? And what would he want with an angel? Cas!whump #5 of the Catch Me When I Fall verse
1. Chapter 1: Well, It's Got Teeth

**A/N: This story is fifth in the arc that started with "The Collector" and last ended with "Venom." On Ao3, I labeled the series** ** _Catch Me When I Fall_** **because each of the stories deals with Cas being cut off from Heaven and slowly falling. So Team Free Will's bond is a lot stronger in this fic compared to regular episode AUs.  
** **Please note: in all of my season 5 stories thus far, my head canon has been that Cas being cut off from Heaven means he can't hear prayers, but for the purposes of this fic, he *can*. (Yes, I've committed the sin of inconsistency in my own series. I'd fit right in with the show writers. ;p)**

 **Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading, and for another awesome piece of cover art!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Supernatural_** **.**

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Chapter 1: Well, It's Got Teeth

Sam watched the plate of leftover pasta go round and round inside the microwave. Monotony at its finest. Kinda like his life the past few days. Detoxing from demon blood the second time around was no easier than the first. And the fact that Famine and a bunch of kamikaze demons were to blame for Sam falling off the wagon didn't make him feel any less disgusted about it.

But he was doing better now, had gotten his appetite back yesterday, which had prompted Dean to whip up some version of pasta fettuccine. Without any vegetables or meat, unfortunately. Sam didn't complain about the carb heavy meal, though; he found it rather amusing that his brother was being sensitive to Cas, who couldn't look at a cut of beef without turning a bit green. None of them had come out of that encounter with Famine unscathed.

It sucked, too, because the Winchesters had gradually been getting Cas accustomed to various foods. Being cut off from Heaven left the angel in an odd state of slowly falling. Cas didn't _need_ to eat… _yet_. So Sam wasn't the only one who needed to get his appetite back. But Cas had adamantly refused to touch the pasta, and last Sam saw of him the night before, he was out sulking in the salvage yard.

The microwave beeped, and Sam pulled out his steaming plate. To be honest, all three of them had been melancholic the past several days. Sam had his own inner demons to deal with, and he suspected Cas was upset over succumbing to Famine's influence. Dean was strangely quiet. Sam had assumed it was due to his detoxing, but even though he was feeling better, Dean still seemed distant, almost robotically focused on two things: getting Sam (and Cas) to eat, and working on the Impala. What they needed was a case, something to get them out of this funk and back into the game.

Well, ask and you shall receive.

Sam had no sooner sat down to dig into his pasta when Bobby wheeled into the entry. The older hunter watched him take a few bites—seriously, it was creepy how overbearing they were all acting—before he cleared his throat.

"I think I found a hunt close by," Bobby began. "You feel up for it?"

Sam let his fork drop with a clatter. "Hell yeah. What is it?"

Bobby eyed him with a flicker of skepticism, but ended up nodding toward the window. "Grab your brother and I'll fill you in."

Sam was out of his seat in a flash and striding outside. He found Dean where he expected—out front working on the Impala. Cas was there, too, standing stiffly at the hood with brow creased, trying to follow Dean's explanations of the engine parts. They'd also started teaching Cas to drive, though Dean's idea of a proper auto education included all aspects of a car, including maintenance.

"Hey," Sam interrupted.

Dean paused in his instruction and straightened. "Hey. Something up?"

"Bobby might have a case."

Dean frowned slightly, and Sam hated that familiar, wary look. He was _fine_ for cryin' out loud.

"He said it's close by," Sam continued before Dean could protest or ask if he was okay. "I think we should check it out. Not to mention it'd probably do us all some good to get out for a bit."

"You wanna get out, we could go to the movies," Dean argued. "What was that sci-fi one, with the blue alien dude?"

Sam just gave him a pointed look. "Avatar. And that was a couple of months ago; it's not in theaters anymore."

"Oh."

Sam crossed his arms. "I appreciate the concern, really, but I'm good, man. I wanna get back to hunting, to normal."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, though.

"What is the creature?" Cas asked.

"Dunno yet. Bobby's waiting to fill us in." Sam lifted his brows in question at his brother. "So?"

Shaking his head, Dean moved to close the Impala's hood. "Alright, let's talk monsters."

Sam felt a surge of relief to finally be doing something that didn't involve languishing around Bobby's. Granted, they'd deserved a break after everything they'd been through, but Sam was definitely ready to get back in the saddle.

He and Dean headed inside with Cas trailing behind them. Bobby was at his desk in the study, making some notes in the margin of a newspaper.

"Body was found last week over in Worthington, throat ripped out," he said without preamble.

Dean quirked a brow. "Just one?"

Bobby leveled a peeved look at him. "It's an hour drive. If you don't find anything, you can be back before nightfall."

Hm, maybe they were starting to drive Bobby a little crazy with their cabin fever. In any case, Sam was just glad to have the excuse.

"Could be a vampire," he said. "Wouldn't hurt to check it out."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, fine."

"You wanna come, Cas?" Sam asked. If Bobby did want some alone time, he most definitely wouldn't want the angel hanging around. "A vamp usually means a nest, so the more help the better."

Cas gave a measured nod. "Alright."

"Great. Dean and I will grab our gear and meet you out front in ten." Turning on his heel, Sam headed upstairs to throw some clothes and weapons into his duffel, an easy task since he and Dean more or less lived out of a travel bag. On his way back down, he passed the kitchen and his plate of pasta abandoned on the table. Sam could tell his brother was a little reticent about this, and if scarfing down a meal would help alleviate some of that worry, Sam would do it. He detoured into the kitchen and scooped the pasta back into the tupperware container, and then decided just to take the whole thing. He could eat it cold and plaster on a genuine smile for Dean if that's what it took.

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Worthington, South Dakota was an hour east of Sioux Falls—less with Dean's driving. Sam had been right that after sitting in the passenger seat and eating a good portion of the leftover pasta, Dean seemed to loosen up a bit about going to check out the case. They stopped at a gas station a couple of blocks from the city morgue to change into their FBI threads, and then headed over.

"Remember," Dean was saying to Cas as they pulled into the parking lot. "Don't mention vampires. Or anything else supernatural." He shut off the engine and climbed out, Sam and Cas following suit.

Dean came around the rear of the Impala and gestured at the angel. "Hold up your badge."

Cas glanced at the agent creds Dean had given him, and then held the wallet up, the flap falling open upside-down. Dean rolled his eyes as he snatched it out of Cas's hand and turned it around.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Cas said hesitantly.

"You just have to get the hang of it," Sam encouraged. "You did fine the last time we checked out a morgue together." Except for a little awkwardness that thankfully no one had witnessed, but Sam could give the angel a break. He wasn't just learning the hunting ropes, but also human mannerisms.

Dean adjusted his own tie. "You know what, just let me and Sam do all the talking here, okay?"

Cas's mouth was pressed into a doubtful line, but he nevertheless followed Dean toward the door. Sam got his own fake FBI credentials out and ready to flash.

Bobby had already called ahead, so the coroner was waiting for them when they arrived, a mid-forties man with a rounded face. He eyed them guardedly when they came through the glass doors.

"Afternoon," Sam greeted, quickly showing his badge. "Agents Bradshaw, Newman, and Moscone."

"Dr. McGee," the guy replied. "What's the FBI's interest in an animal attack?"

"Just being thorough," Dean said with a genial smile. "So what makes you think it was an animal?"

Dr. McGee canted a dry look at him. "Well, it has teeth."

Cas's brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth as though to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

"Mind if we take a look at the body?" Sam asked.

McGee shrugged and turned to head down the hallway. "Sure, why not?" He lowered his voice to a mutter, "Big city feds think we don't know how to do our jobs."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look; playing federal agents was the best way to cross jurisdiction lines, but sometimes they encountered hostility from lower law enforcement agencies.

"We're not doubting your judgment," Sam put in. "But we're looking into the possibility of a killer who covers up the cause of death with an animal attack."

McGee threw a frown over his shoulder. "How so?"

Dean pursed his mouth. "Uh, suppose a killer slits someone's throat, but then lets a rabid dog loose on the victim. You probably wouldn't find the original cut under all the teeth marks."

McGee's frown deepened. "I suppose not." He turned right and headed through a set of double doors that led into the main morgue. The slabs were empty and pristine at the moment, and McGee bypassed them to reach the storage units along the side wall. He unlatched the third one from the bottom end and pulled the drawer out.

Sam grimaced at the shredded remains of the victim's neck. Yep, definitely looked like a vampire attack.

"Pretty grisly, huh?" McGee said, almost as though he took pleasure grossing out the FBI agents. Too bad Sam and Dean had actually seen worse.

Dean angled his head to get a better look at the wounds. "Yeah, if this guy's throat was slashed, you wouldn't be able to find evidence of it."

McGee crossed his arms. "Or it could just be an animal attack."

"Get many of those, do you?" Dean responded with an irreverent smirk.

"There's no evidence of foul play."

Sam had to resist shaking his head. Given the nature of the death, he doubted the police had looked very hard for other means or motive.

Cas was staring intently at the body—he often did that—but finally lifted his head to catch the hunter's gaze. "Sam." He hesitated, casting an uncertain look toward Dean.

"Have something to share with the class?" McGee asked.

Cas opened his mouth, closed it again, and then stiffened his jaw. "I'm not allowed to."

Dean shifted away from McGee to roll his eyes peevishly before turning back with a fake, 'what-are-you-gonna-do?' shrug. "We can't comment on an open investigation."

McGee's frown morphed into a scowl. "That's the line you give to the press, not fellow investigators."

"It's really too soon for us to be discussing theories," Sam put in. "Thanks for your time, though." He shot both Dean and Cas pointed looks before exiting the morgue. He would've liked to get a look at the full report, but McGee's tolerance level had been plummeting fast.

Sam waited till they got back to the Impala, and then turned around in the front seat to face Cas. "You pick up something back there?"

The angel nodded. "The victim was a werewolf."

Dean twisted around in surprise. "What, really?"

"Yes."

Dean glanced at Sam, and then turned the key in the ignition. "Okay, so, what? Vampire vs. Werewolf? Some kind of territorial dispute?"

Sam frowned as he pulled out his phone and checked the calendar. "It was a full moon last week. Could it have been another werewolf?"

"Heart wasn't eaten," Dean came back with. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Or, do werewolves just not eat each other? I mean, they're sorta cannibals, eating humans, but maybe they're not hardcore cannibals."

"Could it really have been another animal?" Sam put out there. "My money would've been on the werewolf, sure, but if something else got the drop on it…"

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "What do you think, Cas?"

The angel's brow creased in concentration. "All of your theories have merit."

"Okay, but you like one over the other?"

Cas's expression pinched. "One can't show preference to facts. They are either valid or false."

Dean let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, whatever. So is this a case or not? I mean, werewolf victim ain't exactly something we investigate."

"We should stick around," Sam said. Even if the case turned out to be nothing, he wasn't ready to go back to Bobby's yet. "Poke around a little more. Just in case there is a second monster running loose."

Dean shrugged. "Alright, but I'm hungry."

Sam snorted, but didn't protest. Dean would likely try to shove a huge meal down his throat, and Sam knew he had to be enthusiastic about it if he didn't want Dean worrying again. Sheesh, any outsider would think he was a recovering anorexic.

The leather in the backseat squeaked as Cas shifted. "When should I return?"

Dean whipped his head around. "What? No. Come eat with us."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I'd rather not."

Sam craned his neck to give the angel a sympathetic look. "Come on, Cas. It's been long enough—food won't make you sick again. Dean and I won't order any meat, either."

Dean shot him an annoyed glare, but Sam merely raised his eyebrows pointedly. If they wanted Cas to stick around, they'd have to be a little more patient with him.

"Damn Famine for ruining perfectly good burgers," Dean muttered as he pulled into a twenty-four-hour diner.

"You should be able to eat what you want…" Cas started.

"Dean can broaden his palate," Sam insisted, and pushed his door open.

Cas reluctantly followed, eyeing the restaurant as though it were enemy headquarters. The three of them headed inside, and at least the blonde waitress managed to lift some of the scowl from Dean's face when she batted her eyelashes at him. Sam slid into the booth next to Cas and scanned the menu, trying to pick out selections that didn't have cooked meat in them. Granted, there wasn't a ton under the entrees, though there were house salads. No way Dean would go for that.

"Seriously, Sam…" his brother grumbled.

"Chili," he suggested.

Dean considered it for a moment. "Yeah, okay. What are you getting? Better not just be rabbit food."

"That so-called rabbit food is more healthy than anything _you'd_ pick off the menu."

Dean made a face and reached for the dessert placard. "At least they've got pie."

Sam glanced at Cas, who was staring at the menu in obvious discomfort. "How about pancakes?"

"I don't know…"

"I'll split them with you. That way Dean can shut up about both of us eating." Sam flicked a pointed look at his brother, who glowered in return.

"Al-alright."

Sam ordered a plate of pancakes with a side of salad instead of bacon, and didn't even care that the waitress arched her brows dubiously. Dean appeared slightly embarrassed by him and Cas, which just made Sam grin more.

When their food came, Sam dug into his salad, giving Cas a chance to try the pancakes stacked three high. The angel watched the maple syrup spilling over the sides for several long moments before he worked up the nerve to put a bite in his mouth. He chewed for an agonizingly long time before swallowing, but when it was clear the sweet pancakes weren't going to elicit the same reaction as consuming raw beef, he slowly went for a second bite.

Sam flashed Dean a surreptitious grin, and despite his brother's lingering discontent over the lack of burgers, a smile still tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth.

They weren't quite finished when Sam's phone rang, the number displaying the area code for Worthington. "Agent Bradshaw," he answered.

"It's Dr. McGee."

Sam straightened. "What can I do for you, Doctor?"

There was a slight huff from the other end of the line. "There's been another killing."

"Another animal killing?" he clarified, catching Dean's gaze as his brother perked up.

"I'd say yes," McGee groused. "Except animals don't throw bodies in dumpsters when they're done with them."

Sam's eyes widened, and he gestured sharply for Dean to pass him a pen and napkin. "Where's the crime scene?"

McGee grudgingly gave him the address, and Sam snapped his phone closed.

"Another body dropped."

Dean scooted out of the booth, slapping a few twenties on the table. "Dammit, I didn't get my pie."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Priorities, Dean."

"We're going, aren't we?" he retorted.

They drove to the latest crime scene, a back alley behind a music store. Sam and Dean flashed their badges to the uniformed officer guarding the perimeter, while Cas's purposeful stride seemed to grant him unquestioned passage along with them. If he just maintained that stern look without ever opening his mouth, he could pass for their superior.

A body was laid out on a sheet of plastic while crime scene techs dug around inside a nearby dumpster. Dr. McGee stood up from examining the young woman's remains.

"Her throat was ripped out, just like the other victim. But there's no blood spatter inside the dumpster, so it didn't happen here."

"So someone dumped the body," Sam concluded.

McGee shrugged. "Guess your theory might be right after all."

Sam ran his gaze over the victim. Brunette, lithe frame, makeup done up.

Cas leaned into Sam's personal space. "Not a werewolf."

Well, that was good to know. So maybe the killer/monster didn't realize it was hunting a werewolf the first time. Although, there was something strange about this one…

"Do you smell that?" he whispered to Dean.

Dean took a moment before his face scrunched up in confusion. "Is that…?"

"Sulfur." So maybe their killer was a demon. But why would a demon be going around killing like a vampire would?

Cas stared at the deceased young woman for several long moments, to the point he was starting to draw attention, so Dean nudged his elbow and jerked his chin for them to move away from the center of activity.

"What is it?" Dean asked. "You said the vic isn't a werewolf."

"No," Cas said with a deep frown. "But I believe she was the demon."

Sam quirked a perplexed brow. "What? Something ripped out a demon's throat?"

Dean shook his head. "Huh. So demon's meatsuit gets torn up, and he dumps it in the garbage before smoking out."

"I…don't think so," Cas said carefully.

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there are fragments of the demon's essence lingering on the body, as though the demon also perished."

"How can you tell?" Dean asked.

Cas glanced at Sam guiltily before looking away. "When Sam was able to…kill those demons, they…they left a similar trace."

Sam's stomach churned unhappily at the memory, but he forced it down. "Okay, what's capable of doing that to a demon?" Angels could kill demons, but that involved burned out eye sockets, not ripped out throats.

Cas gave a small head shake. "I don't know."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "So, what do we know at this point?"

Sam glanced back at the crime scene. Two victims who were monsters themselves, possibly killed by another monster?

Cas glanced between the two of them. "We know it's got teeth," he said, quoting McGee from earlier.

Dean rolled his eyes.

Yeah, that was super helpful.


	2. Chapter 2: Monster vs Monster

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who followed and reviewed the first chapter! I'm sorry if I missed personally responding to anyone, but the site was "losing" all the reviews, which made it difficult to keep track. Same if you happened to also read my one-shot "Left Behind." In fact, it looks like the site still isn't saving reviews...oh well. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Chapter 2: Monster vs. Monster

Even though Bobby's was only an hour from Worthington, the Winchesters got a motel room anyway. Better to be close in case another body dropped. Dean called Bobby to report in, but the older hunter had no idea what type of monster would be hunting other monsters. Dean had half a mind to let whatever it was have at it, but who was to say it wouldn't switch to more human game?

Unfortunately, their research session yielded no leads. When the Winchesters finally decided to call it a night, Cas said he would go conduct a search of the city in all the typical places a monster might hide out in. The angel hadn't returned by the time Dean woke the next morning, and he tried not to be too worried. It was just that Cas had taken some hits recently, what with nearly killing himself traveling through time, and then the whole Famine thing, which Dean did _not_ want to think about. At all.

He gave himself a rough shake as he slipped his jacket on, and then headed out to pick up some breakfast, since Sam was hogging the shower. Dean made it down to a donut shop before the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was an instinct honed after years of hunting—someone was following him.

Dean continued his measured stride without appearing ruffled, and turned into the next alley. There was an alcove to his left behind a dumpster, and he made a sharp veer toward it. With his hand on his gun, Dean pressed himself against the shadowed wall and waited.

Footsteps entered the alley, then stopped. Dean waited while his unwanted company probably took a moment to look around in confusion. Then he heard the soft slap of footfalls start to come closer. Dean counted, visualizing the cautious sweep the guy was probably doing, and when he guessed the person was close to the dumpster, Dean drew his gun and stepped out of the alcove.

It was a guy alright, an inch shorter than Dean, wearing cargo pants and a brown jacket. Black hair stuck out in various angles. He stopped short at Dean's appearance, and quickly raised his palms.

"Whoa, man, we're cool here."

"Yeah? Then why you following me?"

The guy gave a minute shrug. "Wanted to scope you out before I made contact. I'm a hunter."

Dean blinked. Another hunter? He lowered his gun just a fraction. "And what would you be hunting in the city?" he asked sardonically. Couldn't be too careful.

"Same thing you are. Vampire. I saw you at the crime scene last night, and let's just say you don't exactly scream legitimate FBI. Though you put on a good enough act for the locals, I'll give you that. Or maybe it's just easier for hunters to recognize each other." He lowered his arms, arching an expectant brow at the pistol still aimed at him. Dean slowly lowered his gun the rest of the way.

"Name's Paul Eger," the guy continued.

"Dean Winchester."

Paul nodded. "I used to hear stories about the Winchesters from Ellen Harvelle. Damn shame about the Roadhouse. Makes it harder to keep up with people. Hell, I haven't heard from Ellen in several months."

Dean's throat constricted. "Yeah, well, she and Jo…" He couldn't say it. Even though it was an understood risk in their line of work, it didn't make it any easier to swallow. Because their deaths were on him. He'd convinced them to help with some crazy-ass plan to ice the Devil that'd all been for nothing.

Paul's jaw slackened with understanding, and he reached up to rub his stubbled chin. "Aw, shit."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat, and finally holstered his weapon.

Paul let out a low breath. "Damn. Can happen to the best of us, though."

Dean tried to shove the memory of Jo bleeding out and Ellen clutching her dying daughter far from his mind.

"Anyway," Paul said, also shaking it off. "I've been tracking this vampire for a month now."

Dean frowned. "A month? First vic was a week ago."

"First one in this town," he replied. "Vamp's been making his way southeast since I picked up his trail in Montana."

"Huh, you sure it's a vampire?"

Paul's brow furrowed. "What else would it be?"

"Dunno. But last week's victim was a werewolf, and last night's looks like it might've been a demon. Last time I checked, vamps aren't that high up on the food chain."

Paul blinked at him in bewilderment.

"So you had no idea whether previous victims were also monsters?" Dean asked.

Paul slowly shook his head. "Uh, no. I…I don't know how I would've known something like that. How exactly did you figure it out?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "We got an ace in the game. You got any other leads?"

Paul eyed him warily for a prolonged beat. "No. Like I said, this vamp's been good at giving me the slip. But maybe if we team up, we can catch it."

Dean couldn't think of a reason not to. Unless he counted the fact that everyone around him tended to drop like flies. But this hunt had nothing to do with Lucifer or the Apocalypse.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, sure. I'm just gonna pick up some coffee and we can head back to the motel and meet my brother."

Paul nodded. "Sounds good."

He followed Dean into the donut shop, and even ordered a coffee and breakfast for himself. Then the two of them walked back to the motel where Sam was finally out of the shower, phone pressed to his ear. He stiffened as soon as he caught sight of Paul entering the room behind Dean.

"Okay, got it," he said hurriedly and hung up, shooting Dean a questioning look.

"Sam, this is Paul. He's a hunter who's been after our monster for a month now," Dean said by way of introduction.

Paul nodded in greeting. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah, you too." Sam accepted the coffee cup Dean handed him. "Wait, a month?"

"Yeah, vamp's been moving down from Montana," Paul replied.

Sam quirked a brow. "You sure it's a vampire?"

Paul let out a light laugh. "As sure as I can be, though your brother's already filled me in on these latest two victims. Gotta admit, though, a werewolf and demon biting the dust? Seems weird."

"Oh, definitely weird," Dean said before taking a large bite of his sprinkle donut.

"Well, that was Cas on the phone," Sam said. "He's found a vampire. Doesn't think it's the one we're looking for, but sounds like it might have some information."

Dean straightened, sparing a brief rueful thought for his unfinished donut and coffee. But duty called. "Where?"

Sam typed something into his laptop. "Not far."

"This 'Cas' the other member of your troop?" Paul asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied, grabbing their duffel full of weapons, just in case.

Paul's mouth pursed thoughtfully. "He looked even less FBI than you two did."

Dean almost laughed. "He's still learning."

"And you let him track down a vampire on his own?"

Dean just grinned. "Trust me, he can handle it." Even though Cas wasn't as all-powerful as he used to be, he could still handle a lowly vampire.

They headed out and piled into the Impala, Dean following Sam's directions to Cas's location. When they pulled up in front of an entrance to the sewers, however, Dean groaned.

"Seriously?"

"I guess it's a good place for a vamp to hide out," Sam allowed, though even he wrinkled his nose.

Rolling his eyes, Dean climbed out and headed for the open culvert. Paul brought up the rear, eyes peeled with hunter readiness. The stench that oozed up through Dean's nostrils was acrid, but not as bad as some other pungent aromas he'd experienced. He just had to breathe through his mouth.

Their footsteps sloshed through a sheen of standing water, no matter how softly they tried to tread. Dean was getting annoyed; why couldn't Cas have zapped the vampire _outside_?

They finally came to a junction where Dean spotted a familiar, trench coated figure standing over a beaten and bloody vampire that was huddled in the corner like a sniveling wuss.

Paul pulled up short and stared in disbelief. The vampire wasn't restrained, nor was Cas holding a weapon. Dean smirked; it was kinda fun showing off the angel's badassery.

Cas ran an appraising gaze over the third hunter before he turned back to the vampire on the ground. "Tell them what you told me."

The vamp bared his teeth and hissed, a gesture that was dampened by him cowering further into himself. "There's a new vampire in town. Just got in." His eyes flicked around wildly. "He's one scary dude _everyone_ is avoiding. Can't even tell you why, there's just somthin' about him. My nest scattered." His throat bobbed, eyes hungrily roving over the three humans as though he hadn't eaten in a while. "We're hiding out, just hoping he leaves."

Sam's brow puckered thoughtfully. "So you're sure he's a vampire?"

The creature glowered at him, sucking air through his jagged teeth. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Well, at least they knew the 'what' now.

"Alright," Dean said. "Where do we find him?"

The vamp silently glared.

Dean spread his arms with fake geniality. "Come on, if you're avoiding him, that means you know exactly where not to go."

Cas took a single step forward, and the vampire cringed away from him. "Warehouse on Hurst," he bleated, and then shot them all scathing looks. "That's all I know, I swear."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, then back to the vampire. "I believe you." He nodded to Cas.

The angel's blade dropped down from his sleeve into his hand, and with one smooth movement, Cas arced his arm and sliced clean through the vampire's neck, metal clanging against the concrete wall. The head detached with a squelch and plopped on the ground.

Dean glanced at Paul, whose eyes were wide as he stared at Cas. His hand slowly moved to his jacket as though reaching for a weapon.

"What is he?"

"Paul, this is Cas," Dean said calmly. "Cas, this is Paul."

Paul narrowed his gaze. "What are you?"

A muscle in Cas's jaw ticked, and Dean belatedly realized that wasn't a fun question for him lately.

"I'm an angel of the lord," he said, somewhat stiffly.

Paul's brows shot upward. "Are you shittin' me?"

Cas frowned. "No."

"He really is an angel," Sam jumped in. "One of the good guys."

Paul's mouth worked for an extra beat before he said, "Well, uh, good to meet you."

"Great," Dean said. "Now let's go check out this warehouse."

"I'll meet you there," Cas said, and vanished before Dean could open his mouth to respond.

"Dammit, Cas," he swore.

Sam gave Dean a sympathetic shrug. "Backseat's probably gonna be a little crowded for him."

Dean glanced at Paul, who lifted his brows as though wondering whether he should be offended. "Yeah, well, a vamp that even the monsters are afraid of? Idiot should've waited for us." Dean started marching back out of the tunnel at a quickened pace, Sam and Paul hurrying behind.

The moment all three doors of the Impala shut, Dean gunned it back onto the road while Sam read off directions from his phone. The warehouse was abandoned—of course it was—with four-inch weeds growing through the vacant side lot. Dean parked and popped the trunk, then got out and started handing out machetes, though he kept his gun in its holster and Sam still carried the demon killing knife.

Paul tested the balance of the machete he'd been given. "Let's do this."

There was a flutter of wings, and Cas appeared at the front of the Impala.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean snapped. "You don't go running off alone after something that kills demons."

Cas's expression darkened. "I'm an angel. Besides, the place is empty."

The three hunters shifted postures, the anticipation of a hunt quickly draining at the news.

"So, was that other vampire lying?" Sam asked.

"No," Cas replied. "I believe our quarry was here, but he's gone now. Still, you should take a look." Pivoting, the angel started toward a side door, leaving the Winchesters and Paul no choice but to follow.

Inside was your typical abandoned warehouse, except this one had a devil's trap painted on the floor. Everyone stared at it for several long moments. There were some rust-colored smears that didn't look like part of the red paint.

"So…" Dean finally broke the silence. "That last vic _was_ a demon, and somehow this vampire managed to kill it."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Seems that way."

Dean scanned the warehouse. A metal table had been set out near the devil's trap, but if it held anything before, it was bare now. There was no other sign of a vampire making this his evil headquarters for whatever he was up to.

"Still," Dean said. "A vampire that eats monsters? I mean, what the hell is that about?"

"Maybe it's a coincidence," Paul said. "We can't know what his earlier victims were." His brow furrowed, and he flicked a look at Cas. "Is that how you knew? Some kind of angel x-ray hoo-doo?"

Cas tilted his head and blinked back owlishly.

"Cas sensed it, yeah," Sam answered.

"Hey, think you could track down previous victims and see if they were monsters too?" Dean asked the angel.

Cas's brow furrowed, but after a moment he nodded.

"Great." Dean waved at Paul. "Make a list."

Sam paced around the edges of the devil's trap. "I wonder if this vampire is trying to do good."

Dean scoffed. "Come on, Sammy."

"Well, he's killing other monsters."

"Unconfirmed," Paul put in between scribbling out stuff on a small notepad. Once done, he ripped the piece of paper out and passed it to Cas.

Sam huffed. "I'm just saying."

Dean did have to admit that the idea of a monster taking out other baddies _might_ be a good thing. Could save them work…for now. But again, the thing could easily target humans as well. It might help to know about the earlier victims.

"Let us know what you find," he said to Cas.

The angel vanished in a swish of wing beats.

Paul let out a heavy sigh. "This is what happened last time—I thought I was getting close, and the vamp skipped town. Trail ran cold until he started killing again somewhere else."

Dean's jaw tightened. Awesome.

"I ain't givin' up, though," he continued. "And hey, you keep me in the loop if you get wind of him, right? I'll do the same for you."

Sam nodded. "Of course. Thanks for your help."

Paul glanced around the warehouse and shook his head. "What little it was. I'd really been hoping this was the day."

Dean knew that feeling. "Guess we should head back."

After casting one last look at the place, the three filed out to the Impala. The disappointment of a failed hunt was palpable, and the drive back to the motel tense with silence.

Dean put the car in park and craned his neck to look into the backseat. "You need a ride anywhere?"

"Nah, my ride's around the block," Paul replied.

Dean shut off the engine and then lingered while Sam went inside the room to fill Bobby in on their progress, or lack thereof. Paul hesitated before taking off.

"So, angels are real, huh?"

Dean shrugged his eyebrows. "Yup."

"You meet many?" Paul asked. "I mean, if angels are teaming up with hunters…"

Dean couldn't help but bark out a laugh. "Trust me, you don't want that. Plus, angels would never stoop so low."

Paul frowned. "But…"

"Cas is different. All other angels are dicks, though. They actually helped jumpstart Judgement Day."

Paul's eyes darkened and he lowered his voice. "I heard rumors about the Apocalypse."

"Yeah, well, it's real, too." Guilt coiled around Dean's rib cage like a vice. Every time he had to tell someone about the Apocalypse, it was like personally issuing their death warrant, since he helped start it all.

"Huh," Paul hummed. "So, what do I do if I happen to run into angels?"

"Run like hell," Dean replied blithely, but then went around and popped the trunk. "Really, not much can hurt them. There's a banishing sigil you have to paint in human blood. I'll text you a picture."

He lifted the false bottom and rifled through the stuff before pulling out the jar of holy oil. Grabbing a half-empty water bottle, he dumped its contents and then poured a bit of oil into the bottle instead.

"Use this to set a circle and light it on fire to trap an angel inside. It ain't much, but should give you a chance if you have the misfortune of meeting one of those winged dicks."

Paul took the bottle and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks."

"No problem." Dean slammed the trunk closed. "Good luck out there."

Paul lifted the bottle with its small token of holy oil. "You too."

With that, he headed down the street. Dean watched him go, wondering if somehow, just by having met Dean and learning about angels, Paul was now destined to die like everyone else.

Turning away, Dean headed inside to grab a beer. Or three.


	3. Chapter 3: Enemy of My Enemy

**A/N: I did not watch this week's episode (though I read spoilers). I'm gonna wait to watch it right before the finale, and then I can unleash the muse to write whatever it wants in turn! Which will probably be that multi-chapter recovery fic I've been itching to do since February. In the meantime, enjoy the Cas whump in this story! ;)**

* * *

Chapter 3: Enemy of My Enemy

Castiel stood in the back of the cathedral, gazing up at the towering, white-marble arches that rose into vaulted ceilings, also bisected by similar architectural angles. Light suffused through the paned windows high above, glowing with radiance as though looking into Heaven itself.

Of course, it was just a trick of the mind—a false, sentimental notion of Heaven as seen through the eyes of man. And yet, Castiel continued to hope that one of these times, the ethereal incandescence might prove to carry a trace of the divine, a sign of his father's presence.

The choir was currently rehearsing up at the raised platform, lilting voices adding a somewhat somber, haunting sound to the church. They were singing in Latin, "God with us." Too bad it wasn't true.

A high-pitched trill suddenly blared from Castiel's pocket and echoed throughout the massive cathedral. The angelic voices cut off as several heads turned to track the source of the raucous interruption. Castiel flapped his wings and quickly flew outside. Once on the sidewalk, he fumbled to get the annoying black box out of his coat. He'd forgotten to set it on vibrate again, not that he enjoyed having the thing suddenly jump inside his pocket, either.

"A prayer would have sufficiently gotten my attention," he said upon answering.

" _I prefer the phone_ ," Dean replied.

Castiel glanced back at the church. "Yes, well, I think the Saint Angelica choir doesn't."

There was a beat of silence before Dean apparently chose to ignore that comment. " _So we got word on that vamp we were hunting a couple weeks ago_."

"The one feeding on monsters." Castiel had tracked down the previous victims on the list Paul had given him. At first glance, the earliest victims had appeared human, but upon further investigation, Castiel discovered witchcraft paraphernalia in their homes. It wasn't conclusive, but seemed convincing enough. Castiel had also dug up another victim who had turned out to be a shapeshifter. It was very curious indeed, but since the vampire had disappeared, there was little they could do with the information, and the case had been 'put on the back burner,' as Sam had said.

" _Paul called, said he picked up the vamp's trail. Looks like it's setting up shop again about two hours south of Sioux Falls_."

Castiel frowned. "It didn't travel very far given the time period."

" _Probably just laid low till it thought we were gone. Anyway, Paul asked if you were available to come help._ " Dean let out a small chortle. " _I think he's a little starstruck by angels_."

Castiel's brow pinched in confusion. "A human can't be hit with a star; they're gas giants. And the last time an angel threw one, it collided with another neutron star and exploded into a black hole."

He could almost feel Dean's eye roll on the other end of the line. " _Riight_ ," the hunter drawled. " _Just get over here and we'll head out_."

Castiel opened his mouth to say he could just meet them at the vampire's location, but Dean had already hung up. He cast one last, rueful look at the cathedral before spreading his wings and leaping into the ether.

The papers on Bobby's desk rustled when he landed in the study, and the older hunter slapped a hand down to keep them from falling to the floor.

"Would it kill you to learn to use a door?" Bobby scowled.

Castiel canted his head toward the foyer. "No."

"Then make a note of it," he snapped.

Castiel had 'made a note of it' before. But he was beginning to suspect that the phrase was less of a suggestion, and more of a veiled command. Why did humans have to speak in such roundabout ways? The more time Castiel spent with them, the more he could look back on conversations and decipher the meaning he'd missed the first time around. He remembered Jo making an obvious comment about door handles, but what she'd probably meant was something more like, 'why don't you use the door handle?' Well, Castiel had learned to use the door when entering and exiting the Impala; he supposed he could learn to land outside and knock, too. What was fifteen feet to walk inside anyway?

Footsteps thumped down the stairs and Sam appeared. "Hey, Cas. Thought I heard you. We're almost ready."

Castiel figured now would be a good time to practice, so instead of flying out to the car, he walked out of the study and toward the front door. It seemed so tedious, though, having to turn the knob, pull the door open, and then close it behind him. Then there was the screen door that wanted to bang shut before he'd fully gotten outside. Flying would be so much easier.

But…who knew how much longer his wings would be functioning. He was slowly falling, cut off from the grace and power of Heaven. Sometimes his wings ached too much to fly great distances, and Castiel had taken to resting in various churches, hoping even that small connection to Heaven might revitalize him. It didn't, at least not to the degree he always hoped. He really needed to start acknowledging his future limitations and getting used to them now. Like with how Sam and Dean insisted he eat, even though he didn't need to. They never said it, but Castiel could tell the boys were thinking it—someday he _would_ need to.

He went to stand by the car and wait for them. It was odd to think that he used to dislike riding in the Impala, such a slow and confining method of transportation. But he'd grown accustomed to it, and didn't mind it at all anymore. Rather, he enjoyed the Winchesters' company. It was their encouragement and constant camaraderie that gave Castiel the fortitude to believe he could survive what lay ahead for him.

Sam and Dean came out, and the three of them piled into the vehicle and turned south. The two-hour drive was spent reviewing what they knew about the vampire, and then periods of simply listening to Dean's favorite rock and roll tapes. Castiel was growing used to many human things, but Dean's music tastes were not one of them. He'd learned early, though, not to say as much in front of the older Winchester lest he invite a lengthy lecture on the merits of the genre.

They finally pulled off the highway and drove down a long stretch of gravel road until they came to an old farm. Paul was already there, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

"Thanks for coming," he said as the Winchesters and Castiel climbed out.

"No problem," Dean replied, going around to the trunk to retrieve their weapons. Paul already had a machete latched to his belt loop.

"How'd you track the vampire here?" Sam asked, looking around at the overgrown yard and rusted tractor sitting next to a tangled mesh of wire fencing. Castiel tipped his head up to listen to the faint breeze. Everything seemed still and quiet.

"Got word from a buddy that something was tearing up animals around these parts," Paul replied. "Figured our vamp was trying not to draw attention by going after people." He gestured to their surroundings. "Place is pretty big. We should probably split up."

Dean hefted his machete and shrugged. "Alright."

"Uh, mind if the halo comes with me?" Paul asked. "No offense to you two, but that was some badass shit back in that sewer."

Dean tossed Castiel a cheeky look that suggested perhaps Paul was delivering a compliment. But again, Castiel heard the English words; they just didn't make much sense strung together that way. Not to mention he did not _have_ a halo.

"Sure," Dean said. "Holler if you find something." He nodded to Sam, and the two headed off toward the house.

Paul grinned with anticipation. "Let's go bag us a vamp." He started in the opposite direction, and Castiel followed, eyes and senses peeled for any disturbance.

"It's very isolated out here," he said. "Not a vampire's preferred environment."

"Maybe not, but I trust my source," Paul replied. He cocked his head toward the barn before turning that way.

Castiel roved his gaze over the outer planks with peeling red paint. This property had not been inhabited in several years, and would perhaps make a good nest for another type of monster that might have drawn this particular vampire. But Castiel still couldn't detect signs of anything if that were the case. He couldn't tell if his senses were merely not as strong as they used to be, or if there was nothing here.

The barn door creaked as Paul dragged it open a few inches in order to squeeze inside. Castiel slipped through behind him, coat snagging on a splinter and tearing a thread loose. He eyed it dispassionately for a moment, wondering if he should bother to fix it. But Paul was moving deeper into the barn, and Castiel did not want to let his guard down. He strode after the hunter.

"I don't sense anything in here," he said, sweeping an intense gaze over the dust-covered floor, bales of hay, and abandoned farm equipment.

Paul glanced up at the loft, eyes narrowed as though he, too, had super sensory abilities. Castiel followed the hunter's gaze. A second later there was a tiny metallic click, and before Castiel could react, Paul had thrown a lit lighter on the ground. A trail of oil ignited in a running line all the way around Castiel, bursting up into a wall of flame when the two ends connected.

Castiel whipped his head back and forth in alarm. "What are you doing?" How had this man gotten his hands on holy oil?

Paul came to stand in front of him, the now simmering flames a thin barrier between them. One Castiel could not pass.

"It's nothing personal," Paul said with an apologetic grimace.

Castiel clenched his fists. Was he now the hunted? Paul had asked for him specifically to join them on this excursion. There was no way the hunter possessed an angel blade, though, and therefore couldn't kill him. Or…so he hoped. Castiel's strength was not what it used to be.

"I understand I'm not…human," he ground out. "But I am not your enemy."

"I know that," Paul replied. "And like I said, I have nothing against you. In fact, you seem alright in my book."

Castiel frowned. "Are you after the Winchesters?" He took a menacing step forward, even though the clear threat in his posture was belied by his obvious helplessness.

Paul rolled his eyes. "No, those guys are cool, too."

"Then what…?"

"The world's ending," Paul said. "We gotta do what we have to."

Castiel quirked a confused brow, but then movement in the back of the barn caught his eye. A six-foot man with dark skin and dreadlocks stepped out from behind the stalls. Castiel immediately saw his true nature, and was about to shout a warning to Paul, but the hunter glanced over…and didn't act surprised at all.

"This the halo?" the vampire asked, voice thick with a Jamaican accent.

"Yes," Paul replied.

Castiel shot the hunter a dumbfounded look. "You are working with the vampire?"

"The Devil is running loose. So in this case, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Castiel glanced back and forth between them as the vampire stalked closer. "I don't understand."

"We're gonna stop the Devil," Paul said as though it were obvious.

Castiel's brows rose sharply. "How? How does killing monsters accomplish that? They're not part of Lucifer's army. Nor am I."

The vampire canted his head at the angel with a hungry leer. "You'll see." He nodded to Paul, who withdrew a dart gun from the inner fold of his jacket. The hunter raised it toward Castiel and squeezed the trigger.

The ensuing pinch of the needle piercing the front of his shoulder was minor, but the fire that erupted instantly afterward took Castiel by surprise. He staggered from shock and ripped the tranquilizer dart out. But it was too late; the substance was coursing through his veins like fire. How…?

Castiel blinked in bewilderment at the needle and the tiny drop of red beading on the tip. Demon blood. That's why it burned.

Paul fired again, and another dart struck Castiel in the chest, injecting more poison into his vessel. Castiel's vision blurred, and when he tried to snatch the dart out, he missed. His surroundings wavered as though he were flying, but his knees struck the ground hard instead.

Though his vision was darkening, Castiel saw the vampire start to drag out a headless corpse from behind the bales of hay and lay it out on the ground. Castiel was beyond making sense of anything at this point, all his senses feeling as though molten lava were cascading over them. His last thought was fear for the Winchesters before Paul shot him a third time and he completely blacked out.

* * *

Sam ran his gaze over the thick layers of dust coating the steps down to the farm house's basement. So far, there weren't any signs of someone being here, and the only disturbances in the years' worth of grime were his and Dean's own footprints.

Dean let out a frustrated huff. "Unless this vamp is incorporeal, no one's been in here for ages."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Maybe Cas and Paul found something."

Dean shrugged, and they turned to head back outside. It was just as quiet as when they'd arrived, but now there was the tang of something burning on the air. Sam half-turned and spotted a plume of smoke rising up from the back of the house. He smacked Dean's arm to get his attention, and then they were both running around to the backyard.

There were no sounds of fighting, just the crackling of a large bonfire as they drew closer. Sam and Dean rounded the last corner and pulled up short. Paul was standing in front of the blaze, hands in his pockets as he watched a body burn. He glanced over at them and grinned.

"Took you long enough. Me and the angel ganked the vampire."

Sam blinked at the headless corpse, charred beyond recognition. That was…fast. He'd actually started thinking this was a wild goose chase, that it was just a regular predator that'd been leaving kills everywhere.

"What'd it say about why it was killing other monsters?" he asked.

Paul's brow furrowed. "I didn't stop to ask."

Sam frowned. "Why not? That's not exactly a normal vampire thing to do. What if it was up to something?"

Paul shrugged. "Now it's not. Besides, the thing was pretty crazed when it jumped out at me." He pointed a finger at Dean. "Thanks for the divine backup there." Paul looked back at Sam. "Thing was probably just rabid."

Sam's mouth turned down further. If that was the case, the vampire wouldn't have been able to cover its tracks so efficiently, or skipped town when it knew hunters were getting close. Not to mention, a rabid vampire would've been killing monsters _and_ humans indiscriminately. No, there had to have been a reason it was hunting other supernatural beings.

Dean was looking around the yard and fields beyond. "Where is Cas?"

Paul shrugged both shoulders again. "Don't know. After he decapitated the vamp, he said he had to go, and then just disappeared. He didn't go find you guys?"

Dean shook his head, a small scowl making its way onto his face.

The fire was dying down now that the body fueling it was little more than charcoal and bone. It all seemed…too easy. Granted, Sam had never seen Paul in action, so he really had no basis for judging the other hunter's skills. But even the Winchesters tended to come out a little scuffed up after a hunt. Paul looked as though he'd just stood back and watched Cas kill the vampire. Which, was pretty much what the guy said happened.

"Well," Paul said, turning away. "Guess you were right after all about all angels being dicks. But I appreciated the help anyway. I'm just glad this case is finally over."

Sam's mouth thinned into a tight line as he watched Paul walk back toward the vehicles. Why would Cas have taken off without saying anything to the Winchesters? Had something happened with Paul that made the angel not want to stick around? But still, Cas would've checked in with Sam and Dean, right?

"Think we should call Cas?" he asked.

"Dude probably went back on the God tour again," Dean muttered. "I think I interrupted it this morning, and he was a little peeved I called on the cell phone." Dean rolled his eyes, and started back toward the Impala.

Casting one last look around the once again tranquil farm, Sam shook his head and followed his brother. Maybe Cas did actually have somewhere to be. Sam would call later, see what he was up to.

The brothers said goodbye to Paul, and then climbed into the Impala to head back to Bobby's.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh no she didn't... Yes I did. :#**


	4. Chapter 4: What Makes a Monster

**A/N: I've got a certain Disney song stuck in my head here. ;)**

* * *

Chapter 4: What Makes a Monster and What Makes a Man

Castiel felt heavy and disconnected from his body, mind too sluggish to fully comprehend why or how. He was vaguely aware of a voice fading in and out around him.

 _"If you didn't want me bothering you on the cell phone, you could at least acknowledge me praying by calling me back."_

Consciousness trickled in slowly, and Castiel finally managed to pry his eyelids open, though at first his surroundings were only a smattering blur of black and orange. He felt a shiver run through his vessel, the action and sensation startling him into near complete wakefulness. He was cold. Why was he cold?

 _"Don't be a dick. Just call or text me back, alright?"_ Dean's annoyed voice faded, and Castiel groggily craned his neck around. He was lying on a stone slab in what appeared to be a concrete chamber. Shelves carved into the walls held urns with epitaphs engraved above them. Candlelight flickered across the ceiling, ebbing and flowing against the shadows, and the air was musty with decay.

He was in a crypt, which meant the raised stone table he was on was a coffin. Castiel lifted his head to inspect his condition, and found his arms and legs tied down with rope. Mere, mortal rope. It shouldn't have been able to hold him, but at the moment he could barely feel his limbs or his wings. His stomach also churned with the promise of violence, reminding him of the wretched sickness he'd felt after Famine's influence led him to consume all that raw beef. The memory itself almost made him vomit, along with the realization that there were still traces of demon blood in his system.

A shift in the air alerted Castiel to another presence, and he whipped his head to the side where the vampire from earlier was coming forward. Behind him, along the back wall of the crypt, was an altar with lit black candles, sachets of herbs, and tiny bones strung together. A tendril of smoke rose lazily from a bundle of incense, and its pungent aroma did nothing to help Castiel's precarious stomach. Paul was nowhere in sight.

Castiel struggled against his bonds as his captor stopped to loom over him, but the ropes were stretched taut over the edges of the stone slab and secured to something at the base that Castiel couldn't see.

The vampire closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Upon exhaling, his extra layer of jagged teeth slid out. "I think you're just about ready."

Castiel clenched his jaw, hating how utterly helpless he was. "For what?" he ground out. There were symbols on the altar, but he couldn't discern what magic they might stand for.

The vampire's face split into a grin. "For supper. I had to wait until there was enough demon blood left from the dosage to keep you contained, but faint enough not to ruin the meal."

Castiel stared at him incredulously. The vampire wanted to _feed_ on him? That was what Paul had gone to the effort of capturing him for? Then…was that also what had happened with the other victims? But why?

"You…you said you were trying to stop Lucifer and the Apocalypse."

The vampire took another deep breath through his nose. "And so I shall. But first I must arm myself appropriately." He spread his arms to the sides and began to chant, voice dropping a few octaves. " _Rahuraar, sakuriisat iisat a ti'pah kaawakit. 'A tarahkista'u a raah_."

Castiel recognized the language as Maori, and the litany as a shamanic ritual, something to do with absorbing essence through consumption. It couldn't actually work, though…

The vampire placed his hand on Castiel's head, firmly turning it to the side to expose the angel's neck. Castiel's heart leaped within his chest, and he tried to buck the vampire off. Its grip was unyielding, however, as he leaned in. Teeth sank into Castiel's neck. He jerked under the shockwave of pain he'd been completely unprepared for, as though the vampire had somehow bitten straight into his true form. Or it was just that Castiel had become more anchored to his vessel since being cut off from the Host.

But then the vampire began to suck, and a shudder rippled through Castiel. He felt a hot trickle of blood leaking from the corner of the vampire's mouth, but also the sizzle of grace. His mind whited out in stunned shock when the vampire sucked again, drawing out not only mortal blood, but immortal grace as well. The agony of it tore a pained grunt from Castiel's throat as the vampire shifted his grip, teeth shredding flesh as more life force gushed from the angel's neck into the creature's mouth.

* * *

Dean tossed his cell phone onto the kitchen table with a scowl. Cas still wasn't answering, either prayers or his damn cell phone. At first, Dean had thought maybe the angel was just being petty. But now, several hours after returning to Bobby's, he was seriously wondering whether something was going on—and if it was, why the hell hadn't Cas come to them for help? Or at least let them know what was up. Dean thought Cas had finally learned how important it was to keep family in the loop.

Sam appeared from the den and leaned against the doorjamb, eyeing Dean's discarded phone. "Still can't reach him?"

Dean crossed his arms. "No." He glanced up to find his brother chewing on his lip.

"Me neither," Sam admitted. "Dean, something doesn't feel right."

He let out a frustrated breath. "You think he ran into angels?" It was always a possibility, given Cas was on Heaven's Most Wanted List, right after the Devil. It worried Dean sometimes, when Cas was gone for long stretches out searching for God. Or…maybe his powers had failed more significantly and he couldn't fly back here. But that didn't explain why he couldn't pick up his phone.

Sam's jaw worked. "I'm thinking back at the farm. How did Paul escape confronting that vamp without a scratch?"

"'Cause Cas did the heavy lifting?" Dean replied.

Sam pushed away from the door frame and moved further into the kitchen. "But Cas would never take off without making sure you and I were okay first. Maybe in the past he'd flit off without an explanation, but he hasn't done that in a while, and definitely not before checking on us."

Dean's gut started churning unpleasantly. Sam was right; Cas was always concerned about the Winchesters' well-being—sometimes detrimentally so. Him disappearing like that…yeah, something was off.

Dean swallowed hard. "You think Paul was lying?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno, I just…it's bugging me. Paul didn't even bother to interrogate that vamp. What if there was more than one?"

Now Dean's gut turned to lead. That _had_ been a pretty quick clean-up job. And why had they just assumed the vampire was working alone? Sure, that vamp they'd interrogated said it was just the one, but he could have been wrong, or lying. And what was the monster doing all the way out at an isolated farm, anyway?

Dean surged to his feet. Dammit, he'd gotten lazy, that's what it was. He hadn't wanted to work the case from the beginning, and he'd let that cloud his judgment into doing a half-ass job. Snatching his phone up, he strode toward the den to grab his keys. "We should go back to the farm, take a closer look around."

Sam followed on his heels in silent agreement. Neither of them said it, but they both hoped they hadn't screwed up royally…and that they hadn't just _left_ Cas there when he actually might have needed them.

Nerves and tension made Dean push the speed limit a lot more than the first time he'd made this drive, and they arrived at the farm with half an hour to spare before sunset. Dean popped the trunk. They wordlessly retrieved their machetes, just in case, and then headed off in the direction Paul and Cas had gone to investigate that morning. The area was still eerily vacant, though a few crickets had started up their twilight song early.

Sam gestured toward a barn. Raising their weapons at the ready, they approached the closed door. Part of Dean felt foolish about the whole thing; it was too quiet for anyone to be here. And yet, that stillness also kinda terrified him.

He gripped the door and tugged it open with a grating creak. Sam slipped inside first, Dean right behind him. The first thing that hit Dean was the acrid tang of burnt reeds hanging on the air. Someone had lit a fire here recently. Maybe Cas had winged off to search the grounds further, caught another monster, and then stayed to take care of it, since the Winchesters had left without him. Which Dean felt damn guilty about now. Though, he also kinda hoped that was the case, and that was why Cas was pissed enough not to return his calls.

That meager hope was shattered, however, when Dean's gaze dropped to the ground and the remnants of a scorched circle that looked too much like it'd been a ring of holy fire. A trap for an angel.

"Sam," he said, voice hoarse with growing dread.

His brother glanced over, eyes widening when he also spotted the blackened circle.

"Cas!" Dean called, sweeping his gaze around the barn. Nothing answered, nothing stirred. The light was fading fast, and Dean had to step right up to the burnt ring in order to look for wing prints…thankfully, there weren't any. But then where the hell was the angel who'd been trapped here? And…what were the chances it _had_ been Cas?

"Cas and Paul came this way together," Dean started. "And…Paul asked for Cas specifically to join us." But why? Dean's jaw tightened. "You don't think…Paul decided to hunt Cas?"

Sam's throat bobbed, though he didn't respond. His gaze narrowed on something inside the scorched ring, and he stepped over the charred hay to bend down and poke through a mound of straw. Then he picked up what looked like a tranquilizer dart.

Dean furrowed his brow; no way that would work on an angel…right?

Sam lifted the dart up for closer examination, and his eyes flew wide. The dart slipped from his fingers, and Sam stumbled away from it, right into the wall, chest heaving and face green.

"Sam?" Dean lunged forward. "Sammy?" What the hell…his brother was _shaking_. Dean reached out to steady his shoulder, angling slightly away in case Sam was about to lose his chowder.

"Dean," he choked out. "It smells like demon blood."

Dean quirked a confused look at Sam, then at the dart he'd dropped. Oh, _shit_ …

Sam put a fist to his mouth and staggered toward the door. Once outside, he threw both palms against the side of the barn and doubled over, looking ready to puke any second. Dean had followed him out, but kept a respectful distance. After what happened with Famine, being anywhere near demon blood had to have been torture for Sam. And why the hell would someone fill darts with the stuff, anyway?

Dean glanced back inside the darkening barn where the scorched ring had faded into shadow. "What do you think demon blood would do to an angel?" he asked in a low voice.

Sam slowly lifted his head, his breathing more under control. "Nothing good." He gave himself a sharp shake. "I'd like to know where the hell Paul even got holy oil."

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. Oh god, _he_ had… "I gave it to him." His pulse throbbed painfully in his throat. "Told him about the banishing sigil, too, in case he ran into angels. _Other_ angels. Cas isn't…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit, how could I have been so stupid?"

"It's not your fault, Dean," Sam said. "Paul seemed fine with Cas when he first met him." He shook his head. "You couldn't have known he'd turn around and use the holy oil on Cas. Not to mention…the demon blood seems to have been all his idea."

Dean didn't feel any better, though he did feel a surge of righteous fury spur him into action. "We need to find Paul," he said, turning back toward the Impala.

"There weren't any wing prints," Sam said, on his heels. "And Paul shouldn't know how to kill an angel, especially without an angel blade, so Cas is probably still alive. We'll find him."

Dean could only nod, because he refused to believe there was any other option.

As the last of daylight faded, he flicked a glance up at the gloaming sky. _"Cas, if you got your ears on, I know you're in trouble, okay? Sam and me are gonna find you. Just hang on."_

* * *

Dean had wanted to call Paul up right then and there, but Sam said they needed a cover story that wouldn't tip the guy off. So Bobby made contact instead. The gruff old hunter was a well-known pillar in the hunting community, and Paul didn't seem to question Bobby Singer calling him in for a case now that the 'Winchesters had vouched for him.' He wouldn't get in till the following morning, though, and it was one of the longest nights of Dean's life.

He was having too many of those recently. It was just over a week ago when he'd thought he'd never have to experience such an agonizing, sleepless night as the one he'd spent listening to his little brother's screams as Sam detoxed from demon blood. He tried not to imagine whether Cas was locked in some dungeon, screaming…

Dean paced the length of the den as the rising sun cast slanted shards of golden light through the window. Sam was standing in the corner, back to the wall, ready for Paul's imminent arrival. Bobby sat behind his desk with a shotgun laid across his lap.

At long last, Dean heard the rumble of a large engine, and Paul's truck pulled up the drive. Hand tightening around the gun in its holster, Dean ducked out of sight from the window and nodded to everyone.

A car door slammed, and a few moments later there was a knock at the door. Bobby wheeled out into the foyer to answer, grabbing his flask of holy water on the way.

"Hey, man, what the hell!" Paul sputtered.

"Can't be too careful," came Bobby's grouchy reply.

"Fair enough," Paul's subdued voice responded.

Dean braced himself, watching as Paul entered the living room. The hunter was using a small towel to pat his face dry from the holy water, which provided the split second distraction they wanted. Paul spotted Dean first, and pulled up short with a surprised look on his face.

"Oh, hey…"

Sam moved away from the wall and came up behind Paul. In swift, coordinated execution, he snapped a pair of handcuffs around one wrist, wrenched Paul's arms down behind his back, and cuffed the second. The hunter let out an indignant grunt and struggled against Sam, but Dean surged forward and grabbed the guy's jacket. Together, the Winchesters dragged him to a chair and shoved him into it.

"What the hell is your problem?" Paul snapped.

"What did you do to Cas?" Dean retorted. No reason to beat around the bush.

Paul sputtered. "What? Nothing!"

"We saw the burned ring of holy oil in the barn," Dean growled. "And the darts with demon blood."

Paul glanced between the three of them, then shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean punched him across the face. "I gave you that holy oil!"

Paul stretched his jaw until it cracked, and then lifted steely eyes to Dean. "Like I said," he ground out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean felt a coldness settle over him. He should have been more angry. He _wanted_ to be angry, to feel that hot rage pumping through his blood. But all he felt was a chilling numbness at the realization of what he had to do here.

Wordlessly, he withdrew a knife from his waistband. It wouldn't be that hard, channeling his Hell days. He'd done it before, after being topside. Yeah, it'd made him sick then, but nowadays his soul was practically dead anyway. That's what Famine had told him. So, torturing again wasn't much of a fall from that point.

Dean caught Sam's widening eyes, and for a moment he felt a pang of regret. He didn't want his little brother to see this side of him. But this was _Cas_ they were talking about. He'd already been missing for close to a day, and who knew where he was or what was happening to him.

Bobby jerked the side of his wheelchair into Dean's leg. "Mind if I speak with you boys a moment?" It wasn't delivered as a request, and Bobby spun his chair around to wheel into the kitchen before even getting an agreement.

Sam started to follow, slowly, as he eyed Dean warily.

Dean pointed the tip of his knife at Paul. "Excuse us for a minute." He followed Bobby into the kitchen, but stayed in the doorjamb so he could keep an eye on Paul, in case the bastard tried to escape.

Bobby glowered at him. "What the hell you gonna do with that, boy?" he hissed, nodding at the knife.

Dean glanced down at it, half turning the blade to catch a glint of reflected light. He swallowed. "What I have to. And you guys probably shouldn't watch."

" _Dean_." Sam reached out to grip his elbow. "No. It was one thing when the angels asked you to do this to Alastair, but Paul is _human_."

Dean shrugged his brother off. "Biology don't count for much when that son-of-a-bitch _did something_ to Cas."

" _You're_ better than this."

Dean shook his head. At one time he wanted to be, but the truth was…he just didn't feel anything anymore.

"Maybe Paul is a monster, Dean," Sam continued. "But don't you dare let him turn you into one, too."

Dean looked away. Part of him wanted to hold onto that. But he also couldn't stop thinking about all the people who he couldn't save up until now. Cas couldn't be the next on a long list of wretched failures.

Sam's hand landed on his shoulder. "Cas wouldn't want you to do this."

Well, that put a chink in his resolve. Dean clenched his other fist, knuckles still throbbing from when he'd punched Paul. "Then what do you suggest?"

Sam glanced into the den where Paul was still in the chair, but the guy had started darting his gaze around in search of an escape. "Try reasoning with him first?"

Dean snorted, but didn't argue. Bobby shot him one last warning glare before the three of them returned to the living room.

"I don't get it," Sam said to Paul. "We told you Cas was one of the good guys; he helped us in Worthington. Why would you turn around and decide he was a monster?"

Paul shifted uncomfortably with his hands cuffed behind his back. "I don't think the angel is a monster." He flicked a nervous glance at Dean, who was still holding the knife.

Dean hadn't exactly promised Sam he wouldn't torture Paul…but his heart wasn't really in it. Just like it wasn't in a lot of things. Except protecting his family, and if Paul pushed the wrong buttons…

"Then why?" Sam pressed earnestly.

Paul dropped his gaze to the floor.

"You need to understand something," Sam said. "Cas is family to me and Dean. If you hurt him, then it's gonna be like Judgement Day upon your head."

Paul snapped his head up, eyes flashing with fury. "I'm trying to _stop_ the Apocalypse."

"By hunting an angel we told you wasn't in on it?" Dean shouted. He took a step forward, forgetting the knife was still in his hand.

Sam shifted as though to intercept him if need be, and Paul pressed himself further into the chair.

"We figured his powers would be useful."

Dean and Sam froze.

"We?" Sam repeated.

Paul started fidgeting.

"Who the hell is 'we'?" Dean demanded, moving to loom over him.

"The vampire!"

The brothers exchanged bewildered looks. "What?"

Paul scowled darkly. "The vamp that's hunting monsters…I'm working with him. To stop the Apocalypse!"

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "How the hell do you plan to do that?"

"Dude was a shaman before he got turned. He's been hunting monsters, those who are strong so he can store up their powers from feeding on them."

Dean felt the floor drop out from under him. That meant…they'd captured Cas so a vampire could _feed_ on him? To…absorb his grace?

"Then," Dean gritted out. "What was the body you burned?"

Paul sighed. "Some other vamp that Lamont brought so we could throw you guys off his trail."

Sam's eyes widened. "Back in Worthington, you told him to pack up and skip town because there were hunters nearby."

Paul didn't meet his gaze.

Dean snapped. Lunging forward, he grabbed Paul's collar and pressed the knife to his neck. He felt Sam stiffen beside him, but neither he nor Bobby made a move to pull him off. "Where are they?"

"It's the end of the world!" Paul cried. "I only did what I had to!"

Dean's throat was growing tight, making it harder to breathe and see straight. His grip on the knife might slip. "Don't you think we know that? Sam and I are working on it. But Cas is on our side here!"

Paul leaned forward, almost nicking himself. "Well you obviously haven't had any luck so far," he spat. "Why should I wait around for someone else to do something?"

This time Dean intentionally drew blood. "Where are they?"

Paul sucked air through his teeth. "Lamont set up shop in a cemetery not far from the barn. But you're probably too late. It doesn't take him long to finish off a meal."

Dean pulled his arm back. He heard Sam's startled shout, but Dean didn't drive the knife into Paul's chest; he merely slammed the hilt into the side of the guy's head, knocking him out. Dean staggered back a step, shaking from fury and fear. A vampire shouldn't be able to drain all of an angel's grace, right? Cas wouldn't…he wouldn't _die_ from it. Unless…unless losing his grace made him human. His powers seemed to be fading faster and faster lately. Dammit, they needed to get him back, _now_.

Dean gestured to Bobby. "Find that cemetery. Sam, help me drop this worthless sack in the panic room."

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked, but he nevertheless bent down to haul Paul up. Together, they dragged his sorry ass downstairs and tossed him into the panic room, then locked it up behind them. By the time they got back upstairs, Bobby had the address for the cemetery, and said he'd call them on the road once he narrowed down a potential spot in it. Then, for what felt like too many times this past week, Dean got behind the wheel of the Impala and gunned it.


	5. Chapter 5: Livin' On a Prayer

**A/N: Well, lots of different reactions to that finale. S12 should be very interesting, and I'm actually glad it didn't end on too terrible a cliffhanger, compared to previous seasons. ;) Anyway, this is the chapter that inspired that lovely piece of cover art by 29Pieces. If you want to see the full image, visit her on deviantart or this story on Ao3, which let me put the image with the text.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Livin' On a Prayer

Castiel gasped as the mouth latched onto his throat tore itself away for the second time. Both sides of Castiel's neck were tattered and oozing blood, refusing to heal. His grace was barely able to stem the effects of exsanguination, and he was fairly certain he'd lost consciousness once already due to blood loss. He could feel his vessel's heart stuttering, unable to pump the proper volume throughout its arteries. His grace, in return, flickered and sputtered with the effort of healing. But in addition to draining his blood, the vampire had somehow found a way to siphon off Castiel's grace as well.

The creature took a step back from the stone coffin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His body shuddered. "I need to pace myself," he intoned, and Castiel couldn't tell whether the vampire was speaking to him or not. It didn't seem to matter.

"An angel's power would normally burn out one such as myself," his voice continued to rumble.

Castiel's eyelids fluttered against a reeling ceiling and roaring shadows that seemed to grow razor sharp claws in his peripheral vision. He could barely tell up from down anymore, a sensation that wasn't quite foreign to him when he was flying. But even though the demon blood was gone from his system, his wings had become completely numb. There wasn't even strength in his limbs to tug against his bonds.

 _"Cas?"_ Dean's voice filtered through the haze of pain and confusion. _"I don't know what's happened to you, but…Sam and I are on it. We're gonna find you, I swear."_

Castiel foggily wondered how the brothers hoped to locate him. He didn't even know where he was. But, then again, Sam and Dean were _the_ Winchesters, and they were good at making the impossible happen.

 _"We know you didn't just take off. I'm…I'm sorry I thought that. I shoulda known better."_

Not for the first time, Castiel wished prayers could run two ways. He wanted to call out, to reach back through the tenuous connection and tell Dean he was here. As if making contact would somehow help Sam and Dean find him sooner.

 _"So wherever you are, just stay strong, okay?"_

Castiel felt consciousness slipping once more, and he drifted away to the soothing sound of Dean's voice telling him promises only a Winchester could keep.

He jolted awake sometime later as piercing pain ripped through his shoulder where the vampire sank its fangs in again. Castiel couldn't stop from crying out under the deluge of pain that reverberated soul-deep, and for a moment he almost lost himself in the mind-breaking insanity of it.

But then Sam's voice perforated the torment like a lancing shard of radiant sunlight, loud and domineering in his earnestness. _"Cas, we know Paul was working with that vamp, that he tricked us."_ Even in prayer, there was a hitch in his voice. _"We know his plan is to feed off stronger supernaturals…so you just gotta hang in there. We're an hour away. Just hang in there, man."_

Time didn't really hold much meaning for Castiel anymore. He had no idea how long he'd been strapped to this stone slab, fed on like chattel. It almost seemed like eternity. He wasn't even sure he was hearing a current, live prayer, or if his memory had dredged it up from the dark recesses when he'd been unconscious. Still, he tried to muster the strength to hold on, just as Sam had asked.

But the vampire suddenly sucked sharply, sending a twinge like a lightning bolt straight down to Castiel's core, and darkness blanketed everything yet again.

A gruff, irritated tone prodded him back to awareness. _"I ain't really the praying type, so I'll just think of this as a one-way telegram using ESP."_

Castiel had no idea what that was.

 _"So you listen good, Feathers. Sam and Dean are on their way, and you better not let them down by going and dying on them."_

Was that what this was? Dying? It was rather…slow. And confining. Much like riding in a car. Castiel would have liked to be in the Impala at that moment. Its backseat was comfortable, and he wouldn't mind lying down there…

Wait, he was an angel; he shouldn't want to lie down and sleep. Castiel tried to rouse himself from the numbing blackness, only to find pain waiting for him on the brink of consciousness. His neck throbbed mercilessly and his body shivered from the cold. Despite his best efforts, Castiel felt himself sinking into oblivion once more as the voices he'd been hearing began to blur together.

 _"We're almost there, Cas."_

 _"We're coming."_

 _"Just hang on."_

The vampire returned and untied Castiel's wrist. When his teeth gnashed across tender flesh, drinking away more blood and grace, Castiel clung to those prayers as though they alone had the power to raise him from this Hell.

* * *

The Impala roared down the highway, pushing the red line. Dean's knuckles were white around the steering wheel, and Sam wished he had something he could clutch that tightly. All he could do was sit in the passenger seat, flexing his fingers in and out of a fist as the landscape flew by. They were close, and yet still too far.

Sam's thoughts kept returning to Paul and what they were going to do with him. Because if they found Cas in bad shape…Sam couldn't deny that he'd want to exact vengeance on the hunter. But he had to abide by the same thing he'd told Dean.

Although, a dark voice whispered, Sam was already part monster himself, because of the demon blood. It wasn't the same as Dean, if Sam went dark side. He'd done it before. He was tainted anyway, an abomination…

Sam gave himself a rough mental shake. No. Those were lies and he wasn't going to buy into them anymore. He remembered what Cas had said once about Sam's soul, how it was _good_. Cas, an _angel_ , believed in Sam in a way the young Winchester had never thought possible. It was practically earth shattering. So he wasn't going to dishonor Cas by sullying his soul now.

He'd been praying to Cas off and on, hoping it would help, but this next one he wasn't sure if it was to the angel or maybe God. _"Just be okay."_

Because if Cas wasn't, Sam didn't know if he'd be able to keep Dean—or himself—from breaking.

Sam cleared his throat. "I've been thinking…if this vamp absorbed a demon's powers, what if it'll be harder to kill?" He didn't say what if it'd absorbed an angel's strength as well.

Dean shifted his grip on the wheel, wringing it as though envisioning someone's neck. "Then maybe it can die like one too," he finally said. "We'll go in armed to the teeth."

Both of them winced at the accidental pun, and they lapsed into silence once more. Only a couple of miles left.

By the time they pulled into the cemetery, Bobby had texted a map of the place with a few locations circled in red. Crypts a vampire might have broken into and hidden. There were four, and Sam had the urge to split up, cover ground faster. But that wouldn't be the smart play, and if they were gonna get Cas out of this, he and Dean needed to go in together.

They loaded up with the demon-killing knife, an angel blade, flasks of holy water, and machetes, just in case the traditional vampire disposal method would still work. The cemetery looked so different during the day; the Winchesters normally did their hunting for salt and burns at night, and Sam just hoped no one coming to put flowers on a grave would spot them.

But the crypts were in an older section of the burial grounds that apparently saw little visitation, given the weeds climbing up elaborate tombstones and figure statues. The first crypt they checked was sealed, but the second had a torn spider web fluttering near the door. Sam moved closer and found it slightly ajar. Steeling his jaw, he nodded to Dean, and together they pried the stone slab open further before slipping inside.

Stairs descended a few feet into a depression partly underground. The tomb was lit with flickering candlelight, and Sam's worst fear was confirmed as he found Cas lying on a stone slab. The hunter took in the details in an instant: a vampire Sam had never seen before, and assumed was the 'Lamont' Paul had mentioned, was holding Cas's wrist up to his mouth. Bright crimson blood was smeared across his lips and staining Cas's coat sleeve. An altar of some kind had been set up against the back wall, and the air was heavy with incense and a deathly chill.

The vampire jerked his head up with a snarl at the Winchesters' intrusion. Sam and Dean launched forward, but Lamont merely waved an arm, and an invisible force slammed into Sam's chest, throwing him backward. He hit the wall and dropped to the floor, as did Dean not too far away. Shaking the daze off, Sam distantly wondered whether the vampire was channeling a demon's or an angel's power with that one. Because it might make his next move worthless.

He drew Ruby's knife and staggered upright, but before he could take another step, that supernatural force punched him again, driving him back against the wall and pinning him there.

Lamont stalked around the end of the stone slab, a macabre grin on his face. He licked his lips clean of blood. "The power…mmm, delicious."

Sam struggled, but couldn't move. Behind the vampire, he saw Cas's arm dangling limply off the side of the coffin, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the floor. The angel wasn't moving.

Sam heard Dean grunt, and the vampire shot a hand toward him next, pinning Dean to the other wall. Lamont then turned back to Sam, leering eyes roving him up and down.

"Hunters," he sneered, voice thickly accented. "Persistent buggers, aren't you?" He took a step closer. "You know, I have been so busy preparing for the Apocalypse, that it has been a long time since I've simply enjoyed a regular meal."

Sam thought he was gonna bust a vein in his forehead, he was fighting the invisible binding power so hard.

"There is a certain…satiation, with drinking power." Lamont cast a glance over his shoulder at Cas before looking back at Sam. "But it leaves an aftertaste. Unlike, fresh, pure, human blood." He extended his hand toward Sam's throat, cupping it gently. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose.

Sam's heart pounded wildly, and his cheeks puffed with exertion that wasn't getting him anywhere. His fingers, wrapped around Ruby's knife, twitched, but couldn't do more.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean manage to work one arm up enough to grab his pistol, which he shakily aimed at the vampire. The loud report in the small space cracked Sam's eardrums, and he squeezed his eyes shut a split second before the bullet tore through Lamont's head and sprayed gore across his face. He knew the gunshot wouldn't kill the vampire, but it did distract Lamont enough that Sam felt the psychic power holding him release.

Sam lunged forward, driving the demon-killing knife into the vampire's chest before Lamont could recover from the gaping head wound. The creature went rigid, and spritzes of orange light flared around the puncture, but not in a complete skeleton as a real demon would have. Sam hovered with bated breath, disappointment and disbelief washing over him as Lamont's face melded back together and he pulled his lips back with a vicious snarl. He flung Sam to the side into the wall again, and then ripped out Ruby's knife. Breathing heavily, Lamont dropped the blade and staggered toward the exit, shock written across his features.

Dean charged forward with an angel blade, but with another wave of his arm, Lamont sent both Winchesters sliding backwards across the floor. The stone coffin stopped their momentum with a light thud, as the force behind the vampire's attack was significantly less that time. Sam and Dean scrabbled to their feet, but the vampire had already burst out into the cemetery. For a split second, adrenaline almost made them give chase, but then with a shared, panicked look, they turned to Cas.

His sleeves and collar were covered in blood from torn wrists and a shredded neck. From the wrist Lamont had just been feeding on, a tiny wisp of bluish-white light floated up like smoke before dissipating.

Sam had to swallow a surge of bile at the sight. "Oh god…"

"Cas?" Dean moved quickly to the angel's head, hands splayed as though to touch, but not knowing where. Sam wanted to reach out and check for a pulse, but there was no place to get a good read. He frantically dug out a handkerchief and began wrapping it around Cas's neck, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Cas's eyelids fluttered, blinking blearily up at him.

"Cas, hey buddy," Dean said, ducking in to also catch the angel's gaze.

A faint smile tugged at Cas's mouth. "You came," he rasped.

"'Course we did. We'll always come for you."

"I…know." Cas's eyelids started drooping. "I…heard you."

His head lolled to the side, sending a jolt of panic through Sam. He moved down to Cas's legs to try finding a pulse in his ankle, only to discover ropes lashed around them. Sam ripped them off, then tugged down a sock and pressed two fingers to cold skin in a desperate bid to find a pulse, and there it was, though weak. How much had that vampire managed to drain? Lamont had healed that gunshot with angelic speed, so what did that mean for Cas?

"We gotta get him out of here," Sam said.

Dean was already pulling out his own handkerchief and tearing it in half with the angel blade. He tied one strip around Cas's left wrist while Sam grabbed the second piece to bind the other. Then Sam grabbed Cas's arms and hauled him up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Dean led the way out of the crypt, angel blade in one hand and gun in the other, head turning back and forth in search of danger. Lamont seemed to have taken the hint and split, though.

Sam staggered under Cas's dead weight—he suddenly hated that phrase, as it conjured horrific images in his mind. Blood from Cas's wrists dribbled down, making his grip slick, and Sam had to stop and readjust his hold a couple of times. But they made it back to the Impala where he gently laid Cas down in the backseat.

Dean stashed their weapons in the trunk, tossed the first aid kit at Sam, and then hurried to get behind the wheel. Sam climbed into the backseat, lifting Cas's head to rest in his lap. In the light of day, Sam could see how pale Cas was, lips bloodless. His skin was also cold to the touch, even though his hair was damp from sweat. Sam peeled back the edge of the bandana around Cas's neck, and grimaced. The wounds were bad, too shredded to be stitched. It'd be better if Cas could heal them.

But he wasn't healing, at least not yet. Sam wrapped more gauze around the angel's wrists and made sure they were tight. Then he clamped one hand over the side of Cas's neck to keep pressure on those wounds. He figured Cas couldn't afford to lose any more blood. And he didn't know whether the fact that grace wasn't leaking anymore was a good thing or bad thing.

"How is he?" Dean asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Sam glanced down, then up again to meet his brother's gaze. "I don't know. It…looks bad."

Dean's jaw ticked, and he pressed the gas harder.

Sam swallowed hard as he took in Cas's ashen complexion, pale mouth parted slightly as faint breaths barely wheezed past his lips. Sam didn't know what to do. Should they take Cas to a hospital? What if he eventually healed up? What if he didn't?

"Dean, you remember that old friend of Dad's? The doctor? The one he said always stitched him up before you were old enough to do it."

"Yeah, uh, Dr. Robert, I think."

"Maybe we should call him."

Dean twisted around to look in the backseat, eyes wide with alarm.

Sam's stomach rolled. "I can't stitch any of this, and if Cas is completely drained…"

"Yeah, no, alright." He faced forward again and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call Bobby, have him contact the good doc."

Sam nodded, gaze once again focusing on Castiel's lax face. He'd been praying so much these past twenty-four hours, and what had Cas said? That he had heard them. So Sam would keep it up, because it was the only thing he could offer at this point. He just hoped it would be enough.

 _"We got you, Cas. Everything's gonna be okay. Just hang in there. We got you."_


	6. Chapter 6: By Your Side

Chapter 6: By Your Side

Dean sat leaning forward, arms braced on his knees, watching the steady rise and fall of Cas's chest. The angel had been unconscious for three days now. It'd been pretty harrowing in the beginning; even Dr. Robert, who'd made the house call, thought Cas wouldn't make it. But of course, the doc didn't know Cas was an angel, that he could still bounce back from this.

That was the problem, though—was Cas still an angel? His grace wasn't making a comeback yet, and Dean was growing more and more anxious waiting. Dr. Robert had done his best to stitch what he could. It'd taken hours and a shit-load of cash when he was finished, but Dean didn't care. The doc had also left some antibiotics to fight off infection, and they'd given it to Cas through an IV, along with a blood transfusion.

Now Cas had some of his color back. Or, mostly he didn't look like a parody of Casper. Dark circles stood out like bruises under his eyes, accentuated by the gray t-shirt they'd managed to change him into. Dean had nearly rubbed his fingertips raw getting the blood out of the dress shirt, suit jacket, and trench coat, and the articles were still draped over the backs of kitchen chairs where he'd set them to dry. There was no point in changing Cas back into them, though it unnerved Dean how… _human_ , he looked without them. The t-shirt, along with the white gauze wrapped around Cas's wrists and neck, made him look almost like a regular guy crashing on Bobby's sofa.

But Cas wasn't a regular guy. He was an _angel_. Or, he was supposed to be…

 _"You gotta wake up, Cas,"_ Dean prayed. _"Come on, man, you're…you're starting to scare me."_

He watched Cas's face with an intensity that rivaled the angel's soul-piercing stare. But nothing happened.

In the background, Dean listened to news radio reporting on a massive killing spree that was sweeping through the county. Authorities weren't sure whether a rabid dog was running loose, or whether they had a serial killer on their hands. Either way, the police had no leads.

"Guess Lamont gave up the anti-Apocalypse band tour," he muttered to Sam, who'd come in to take a turn sitting vigil.

Sam's jaw was tight, and he didn't respond. Both of them knew they should go after the vampire. They were hunters; it was their job. But neither of them could imagine leaving Cas before they knew whether he'd be okay.

But then another day rolled by with no change, and the reports in the news only grew more grisly. Dean couldn't take it anymore, and after scooping up the headlines from Bobby's desk, he stormed downstairs to the panic room.

Paul was lying on the cot, arms folded behind his head as though he were merely lounging around. Dean kicked aside the empty food tray in the middle of the floor with a raucous clatter that made Paul bolt upright.

"I hope you're real proud of yourself," Dean spat, tossing the newspaper clippings at Paul's face. "Set out to save the world, and now a bunch of people are dying at the hands of _your_ souped up vamp. Congratulations, Dr. Frankenstein."

Paul stared at the scattered newspaper articles, mouth disappearing in a thin line. He reached for one of the clippings and lifted it to read. "I…I didn't mean for this to happen. Lamont was only supposed to feed on other monsters. That was the deal."

Dean lunged forward, grabbed Paul by the front of his shirt, and swung him around to slam his back against the wall. "Cas isn't a monster! He's one of the good guys, one of the few who could actually help us stop the Apocalypse, and because of you he's lying in a friggin' coma!"

"I'm sorry!" Paul winced as Dean knocked him against the concrete again. "I didn't know!"

"Dean!" Sam came bursting through the doorway and grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him off Paul. Sam dragged him back several steps, gripping his heaving shoulders and leaning down to lower his voice. "This isn't gonna help things."

Dean shrugged him off, throwing up his palms. "Fine."

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "I am sorry," he said. "If I could fix it—"

"Well you can't," Dean snapped, and spun on his heel to march away. He kicked the tray out of his path again, resolving to stop feeding the son-of-a-bitch. Paul didn't deserve it, and he could waste away like Cas was for all Dean cared.

He went straight to the kitchen and snatched a beer from the fridge. But just as he was about to pop the cap off, he ended up staring at the brown bottle. The solace it usually promised seemed trite and woefully deficient in that moment. Anger surged up like a volcanic eruption, and Dean threw the bottle at the wall. It smashed into dozens of pieces, splattering beer down the wall and floor. Dean stared at the dripping liquid for several long moments, heart pumping rage and fury through his veins, demanding more release. He was almost considering going back downstairs to use Paul as a punching bag, but then Bobby wheeled into the entry, blocking the way.

The older hunter cast one, unimpressed look at the mess before turning to him. "You think free room and board comes with maid service too?"

Dean deflated some. Feeling mildly chastised, he grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and knelt on the floor to start wiping it up. Bobby didn't move from his spot.

"Cas has been through the wringer before," he said. "He'll come out of this, too. Just give him time."

"It's been days, Bobby," Dean retorted. He sagged forward, hands on his knees, and closed his eyes against a swell of emotion. He shook his head, the last of his anger replaced with defeat. "His grace has been failing. What if the vamp drained him of whatever was left? What if he's human now?"

Bobby shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it. Just like we always deal with the crap that gets thrown at us."

Dean glanced over, hearing both the resignation and resolve. Because that was their lives. Sam learning to deal with the effects of being fed demon blood as a baby. Dean pressing on past his experience in Hell. Bobby adjusting to life in a wheelchair. And now Cas, perhaps, finally, human. But they would all keep on grinding. Because it was either that or crawl into a hole and die. And Winchesters didn't do that.

* * *

Cas's finger twitched. Dean quickly set down the book on shamanism he'd been reading and scooted his chair closer to the couch. Another tremor ran through Cas's forearm, and Dean reached out to squeeze it.

"Cas? Hey, buddy, you in there?"

Cas's brow furrowed as he fought his way to consciousness. Finally, dark lashes fluttered to reveal a sliver of clouded blue. Dean let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Dean?" Cas's voice was little more than a weak whisper, but Dean was just happy to hear it.

"Right here." He shifted his chair again so it was up against the side of the sofa where Cas could see him without having to turn his head. "How you feelin'?"

"Tired." Cas's throat bobbed. "…Thirsty."

Dean reached for a bottle of water on the end table and uncapped it. Then he reached one hand under Cas's head to lift it just enough for Cas to take a few sips without choking. Cas tried to gulp the water down, though, and Dean had to take it away when he started to cough.

"Easy, easy." He gently laid Cas's head back down on the pillow, watching worriedly as the angel winced until the coughing abated.

Cas lifted a hand to his throat, only to stop when his gaze caught sight of his bandaged wrist. He lowered his arm slowly, eyes remaining fixated there for an uncomfortable amount of time. Dean had changed the bandages last night, and so knew the wounds were still there. Dr. Robert had done impressive work, Dean would give the man that, but there was definitely no sign of angel healing to go with it.

"You were pretty beat up," Dean said, trying to dispel the tense silence. "You just need time to recover."

"How much…" Cas swallowed, grimacing again. "How much time has it been already?"

Dean didn't really want to answer that. "A week," he admitted. "You've been in a coma, and I was afraid—" He cut himself off; Cas didn't need to know how close it'd been. But Dean had never been good at hiding things from the angel.

Cas shifted his attention to Dean's face, expression pinching. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like worrying."

Dean let out a humorless snort. "Wasn't your fault, Cas. It was mine for trusting Paul and letting you go off with him alone."

Dean didn't think Cas had the strength to roll his eyes, but he managed it. "I'm an angel, Dean. Paul was no threat to me."

"Except he was. I gave him that holy oil." Dean's heart clenched with the confession. "And when he said you took off, without you saying anything to me and Sam, I believed him." He dropped his head into his hands. "We'd have gotten to you sooner if I'd just _thought_ about it for one freakin' second."

A weak hand settled on his arm. "You did what you could, Dean," Cas said softly. "And even that is beyond what most mortals are capable of."

Dean's throat constricted. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to cause Cas any more pain than he was already in, but…

"We know the vamp was feeding off supernatural beings to absorb their power. Your grace…?"

Cas's expression clouded at that, and his gaze returned to his bandaged wrist. "I don't know," he said after a long minute. "It's…drained, yes. But it…may recover." He sounded both hopeful and afraid, and Dean wrenched himself out of his own self pity to take his friend's shoulder in a reassuring grip.

"It'll be okay, Cas. Whatever happens, it'll be okay." They'd been preparing for this eventuality, and yeah, Dean had hoped it was still a ways off. But if Cas's grace couldn't recover from this, the Winchesters would help him through it.

* * *

Castiel sat on the steps of Bobby's porch, watching the rising sun bathe the vista in gold. The air was speckled with glittering motes that looked more like star dust than silt stirred up from the ground. In a way, it made Castiel think of the shattered remnants of an angel's grace floating down to earth.

His fall was not so peaceful, or beautiful. His grace hadn't exploded in a shower of sparkles, like a shooting star burning up through the atmosphere. No, his grace had been brutally siphoned away, transformed into something else for a monster to use at its whim. It was sacrilege.

But then, wasn't Castiel's entire existence since he'd met Dean Winchester a constant state of blasphemy? He'd doubted, questioned, rebelled, been destroyed, then brought back in a most unorthodox turn of events. And as he slowly fell from grace, he'd found himself more and more entrenched in the lives of two human boys—he'd found himself more at home with them than his angelic brethren. Yes, Castiel suspected this had always been the course of his fate.

The screen door creaked behind him, and Sam moved to sit next to him, trying not to spill the steaming liquid in the mugs he held. Once seated, he offered one to Castiel.

"Aren't you cold?" Sam asked, gently, cautiously, as though it were a dangerous subject to broach.

Castiel took the mug, wrapping both hands around and it and relishing the heat that radiated from the ceramic into his palms. He was cold. Once he was able to, he'd changed back into his own clothes, as though mere mortal fabric had the ability to restore some of his older self. It didn't work, of course, and the layers didn't keep him as warm as they used to without his grace burning like an inner fire.

"A little," he sighed. He glanced down at the loose thread he hadn't fixed back in the barn, back when he'd still possessed the ability to mend fabric. It was an odd metaphor for his current state—unraveled, yet still whole enough to function.

Sam took a sip from his own mug, and for a few moments, they silently stared out at the dew-moistened field.

"How are you doing, with everything?" Sam finally spoke up again.

Castiel dropped his gaze to the bandages on his wrists. The wounds were healing well, just through no part of his own. He had hoped with more time and rest, his grace would stir to life once more, weakened, of course, still fading, but mustering enough strength for him to still be an angel. He was beginning to accept that would not be the case.

"My grace is not replenishing," he confessed. "There is…it's a speck, really. Enough that I am not fully mortal, but not enough to…" He took a sip of coffee to ward off having to speak further, a strategy he'd noticed humans do. He didn't want to say out loud that he couldn't feel his wings anymore. They were kept on the ethereal plane, but without the 'mojo' to connect with them, they were useless. He even had the terrifying thought that he could lose them completely at some point and never know it.

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "So, what do you think? Like you won't age, but your body will need food and rest to sustain itself?"

Castiel hung his head. "I'm…not sure."

Sam shifted to face him. "We'll figure it out as we go. The important thing is you're alive."

"I had hoped to last until we stopped Lucifer."

Sam's mouth turned down. "You know Dean and I don't care about that," he said accusingly.

"But _I_ do." Castiel shook his head. "If my powers meant you and Dean have a greater chance of surviving the Apocalypse, then _of course_ it matters to me."

Sam's expression softened. "I know, Cas. And your powers matter to me and Dean, too, if it means you have a better chance of surviving, and so you wouldn't have to go through this becoming human thing. We know it hasn't been easy on you."

Castiel stared into his mug, watching the steam rise and curl off the surface of brown liquid. "It is not…" His jaw worked. "As bad as I'd feared." The words tasted leaden on his tongue, as though he wasn't sure they spoke truth. It was a frustrating paradox, that something could frighten him in some ways and yet not in others.

Sam gave him a wan smile. "You won't be alone. Just remember that, okay?"

Castiel felt the corners of his mouth turn upward as he tried to return the gesture. It had taken time, but he now knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Sam and Dean would be by his side in this. Just as he was by theirs.

* * *

He and Sam finished their coffees before returning inside to tackle their current problem of a rampaging vampire.

"This thing's souped up on demon blood, angel blood, and god knows what else," Dean groused. "Which means an angel blade might be the only thing that can kill it at this point."

"And holy oil?" Sam suggested.

Dean shrugged. "Sure, I'd love to just set the bastard on fire."

"We will have to catch him unawares first," Castiel put in.

Sam shook his head. "Not gonna be easy. We have a general idea of where he is based on the bodies he's dropping, but he keeps moving."

"This Paul guy can't give you any insight?" Bobby spoke up. "He did work with the damn thing long enough."

Dean scowled and started to pace.

"He, uh," Sam answered, "doesn't know. And since he's been locked up downstairs without a phone, I believe him."

Castiel furrowed his brow in thought. "But, Paul would know how to contact the vampire."

Three pairs of eyes trained on him.

"And that would do…?" Dean asked.

Castiel felt a strange scratchiness in his throat. Paul had been the one to trap him, and then hand him over to a vampire to be drained. And yet, it wasn't a personal betrayal. The man claimed to only be trying to stop the Apocalypse, and he'd made a deal with the devil to do so. Was it really all that different from some of the things they themselves had done?

Castiel cleared his throat. "Perhaps Paul could lure the vampire into a trap with the promise of another victim to feed on."

Dean's posture immediately stiffened. "No way. I don't trust that asshat as far as I can throw him."

"Sam said he seemed remorseful of his actions."

Dean shot his brother a dark glower before looking back at Castiel, memory of recent horror haunting his eyes. "He nearly got you killed."

"Yes, and now more people are dying." Castiel rose to his feet. "We can at least ask."

Sam shifted on the sofa, making it squeak. "Cas is right. Paul is probably our best shot at stopping Lamont."

Dean whirled toward Bobby, perhaps looking for support, but the older hunter merely shrugged one shoulder. "Fine," Dean bit out, and turned toward the hallway. "But if he tries _anything_ , I'm shooting him in the face."

Sam's mouth quirked as he got up to follow. "Fair enough."

Castiel trailed behind the Winchesters, down to the panic room. When they entered, they found Paul sitting on the floor, his back against the cot. The young man stiffened upon their entrance, eyes darting warily back and forth between them. His gaze lingered on Castiel for an extra beat.

"I'm, er, glad to see you're okay," Paul started.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, and moved forward as though he wanted to kick Paul while he was sitting down.

Castiel focused on the man before him. He could not see a human soul the way he used to, with his grace able to cut past facades and physical shells to the heart underneath. Still, he felt as though remembered instinct could aid him now, and he did not think there was a hidden glint of malice in Paul's eyes.

"Do you know how to contact the vampire you were working with?" Castiel asked.

Paul frowned. "I have his number. If he hasn't dumped his phone."

"Then you can call and tell him you found another angel he can feed upon. It would be a trap, of course."

Paul flicked a glance at Sam and Dean. "I haven't been in touch with him for a week, and you two found his crypt. He's gonna suspect a trap."

Sam crossed his arms. "You're pretty good at bullshitting. I'm sure you can think of something to convince him."

"What's the matter?" Dean scowled. "Not willing to help fix it if it puts _your_ life on the line?"

Paul's eyes darkened, and he pushed himself off the floor. "I'll do it. Where do you want him?"

Sam gave him an address.

"And if he's not interested?" the hunter asked mildly.

"Tell him the angel you first found was at low power," Castiel said. "He wouldn't notice, given he has no frame of reference, but I had been cut off from several of my abilities."

"Because he chose to stand with us against the Apocalypse," Dean added pointedly.

A muscle in Paul's jaw ticked. "I am sorry," he said to Castiel.

"Then will you help?"

He slowly nodded. "I'll need my phone."

* * *

 **A/N: Only one more chapter left! These things go by so quickly. But I have lots of stories lined up for the summer! ^_^**


	7. Chapter 7: Where You Land

Chapter 7: Where You Land

Dean didn't like this one bit. Even though they'd made Paul put his phone on speaker to ensure secret messages couldn't be passed—and it did seem like the guy was on the up this time—Dean still didn't trust him. And he sure as hell didn't want him watching their backs.

"We need another pair of hands, Dean," Sam argued.

"We do just fine by ourselves."

His brother huffed out an exasperated breath. "This vamp is a lot tougher than the typical hunt. Don't be stupid."

"Please," Paul put in. "Let me make this right."

Dean scowled and resumed his agitated pacing. "Fine," he ground out, allowing Sam to finally escort the other hunter from the panic room. Maybe Paul genuinely wanted to help, maybe he'd bolt first chance he got, or maybe he'd screw them over and hop back on the pro-Lamont band wagon. In any case, though, they didn't have the powered angel up their sleeve anymore, and Sam was right; they needed the extra guns.

Dean turned to Cas, who was still standing in the middle of the room, watching him. "You up for this?"

Cas narrowed his gaze. "You said before that my…condition, wouldn't change things. I am still a warrior."

"I know you are," Dean hurried to mollify. "But facing the monster that…" he trailed off. "I want you with us, I do. But I also don't want you pushing yourself before you're ready. You have a bad track record with that, you know."

Cas's jaw was tight, and he looked away for a moment. When he met Dean's gaze again, it was with staunch resoluteness. "I learned from you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, smart-ass. But you're loading up on power drinks before we go. Stuff with iron and vitamins."

Cas followed as he headed for the door. "That doesn't sound as appetizing as pancakes."

Dean paused at the foot of the stairs to arch a brow at him. "They come in chocolate flavor."

"Oh. Alright."

Shaking his head, Dean led the way upstairs to join Sam and Paul, who were busy packing an arsenal for the inevitable confrontation. Lamont had been skeptical of Paul at first, but the jackass knew how to sweet talk his way out of it. And in the end, the vampire couldn't resist the temptation of a fully powered angel to feed off of.

They packed up all their gear and climbed into the Impala. Sam automatically slipped into the backseat next to Paul so Cas wouldn't be stuck with him. And though Cas would never say anything, his shoulders loosed just a fraction of tension as he slid into the front next to Dean.

They'd chosen a location in Sioux Falls; familiar turf equalled home field advantage. It also guaranteed they got there first, since Lamont was a few hours north, enjoying his killing spree. An abandoned body shop would serve their purposes. Dean hoped the layers of oil and grease would help cover their scent when Lamont arrived, as the element of surprise was pretty much the only thing they had going for them. They set everything up, took their places, and waited.

Dean and Cas hid in the office, wedged between the door and leftover office furniture. Sam was in the garage section, crouched down behind some tool cabinets, and Paul was lounging on the hood of a rusted out Mustang. It was cramped, dark, and boring as hell. Dean pulled out his phone and sent a text to his brother.

 _"Keep an eye on him."_

His phone's screen lit up a moment later. _"Two eyes."_ Then again a second after that, _"But stop being paranoid."_

Dean mentally scowled. He had good cause. At least Sam wasn't blindly trusting Paul, even if he wasn't as resistant to him as Dean was. He glanced at Cas, who was using the wall to hold himself up. As an angel, the guy could stand as rigid as a statue for hours probably, but since he'd been cut off from Heaven, Dean had started noticing the tiredness in Cas's posture, the way he shifted his shoulders occasionally to relieve growing aches. It was more pronounced now, more weighted.

Dean knew Cas could kick ass with or without angel powers, but he still worried. Hell, he still worried about Sam, and they'd been hunting together for years. It was a strange balance, trusting the guy watching your back yet also wanting to do everything to protect him. Dean figured it'd just take time to adjust and find a similar balance with Cas.

The outer door swung open with a raucous creak, and Dean tensed. Showtime. He pressed himself against the wall and leaned out just a fraction to see through the crack in the office door.

Lamont stormed in, dreadlocks bouncing upon his shoulders. "Well?" he demanded. "Where is this other angel?"

Paul rotated a lighter back and forth between his fingers. "He'll be here. All I have to do is pray and he'll fly right down. A bleeding heart, this one."

Lamont's lip curled up in a sneer. "Then pray."

Paul smirked, and clicked the lighter to ignite a flame. And then he tossed it on the ground. The ring of holy oil they'd poured lit up with a whoosh, circling around the vampire.

Lamont's eyes flashed dangerously before he turned a bemused look on the simmering fire. "And what exactly do you think you are doing?" he asked, tone low and menacing.

Paul crossed his arms, and Dean had to give the guy points for not losing his shit. They didn't actually know if the holy fire would work on the vampire just because he'd drunk angel blood.

"You broke our agreement," Paul said. "No hurting innocent people."

Lamont snorted, and began to stalk forward. "And this is why you called me? Over a contract dispute? Tell me, how did those hunters find me at the crypt?"

"Ah-ah," Paul said, wagging a finger and then pointing at the holy fire. "You absorbed an angel's powers, right? So how sure are you that blood won't light up if you cross this?"

Lamont's nostrils flared, and he came right up to the edge, but then hesitated. Dean waited. Part of him hoped the vampire would just light himself on fire and save them the trouble. But just in case… Dean flicked his gaze to the tool cabinet where Sam was slowly straightening, angel blade in hand.

Lamont reached a hand out to cross the line of holy fire. The flames at his feet flared in response, crackling and spitting orange slivers across the floor. Lamont gritted his teeth, a vein in his forehead throbbing, but he stretched further. Okay, no need to test this more. Dean watched Sam slink out from hiding and creep up behind Lamont. He'd be able to cross the holy fire, no problem, but just as Sam stepped over the flames and raised his blade, Lamont pushed all the way through the fire barrier with a piercing scream.

Sam's thrust with the angel blade missed. And Lamont did not burst into flames. The vampire threw his head back and roared. Tongues of fire licked at his legs, but dispelled under the force of power that burst out from the creature. Paul staggered back and tripped over a pile of wrenches.

Dean and Cas charged out of the office as Sam struck out for a second hit. Lamont whirled to face him, taking a slice across his bicep. He howled in pain and shoved both hands out toward Sam, propelling him across the room.

Dean whipped out his gun and emptied his clip into the vampire. Lamont's body jerked as each bullet ripped through him, and though it wouldn't do much, it had worked as a distraction before. Cas moved in with his own angel blade.

Lamont twisted away at the last second, spinning around with a speed that now outmatched the former angel. He grabbed Cas's arm and wrenched it up, holding the sword at bay. The vampire's eyes widened.

"Well, well…you smell mortal now," Lamont sneered.

Cas struggled, but couldn't break free. Dean fumbled to reload his gun.

"I wonder if I could snap your spine." Lamont started reaching his other hand up to grip Cas's neck.

Paul charged forward with a battle cry, wielding a machete he'd had tucked in the corner. Lamont snarled, and threw Cas aside, right into Dean. As they hit the floor, Dean's gun went skittering out of his hand. He scrambled to get to his feet again, but froze when Paul's machete sliced clean through Lamont's neck. The vampire wavered for a moment, expression completely stunned. Dean waited for him to topple, but the thin line around his neck where muscle and tissue had been cleaved slowly melded back together. _Shit_.

Lamont's face morphed into a wicked grin. Paul glanced between his useless machete and the miraculously healed vampire. Lamont flexed his fingers, and Dean watched in horror as fingernails grew into werewolf claws. With a growl, Lamont lashed out, slicing Paul's throat. The hunter's weapon dropped to the floor as he shot a hand up to clutch his neck. Blood dribbled out between his fingers.

Sam lunged for the vampire again. Lamont pivoted, catching him before he could stab his angel blade into the vamp. Twisting around, Lamont sank his teeth into Sam's neck.

"Sam!" Dean scrabbled for the angel blade his brother had dropped. But before he could get his fingers around the hilt, Lamont tossed Sam aside and shot a hand out to wrap around Dean's throat, cutting off his air. Dean kicked and thrashed, but the vampire's hold was relentless. Lamont opened his mouth wide as he dragged Dean closer, razor teeth already stained crimson.

Cas darted in and drove his angel blade into Lamont's back. The vampire jerked, a gasp escaping his throat. His fingers loosened, and Dean dropped to his knees. Gasping for breath, he looked up to see Cas give the blade a sharp twist. Light burst from Lamont's gaping mouth, a weird conflagration of blue, red, and rufous orange tinged with black shadows. The vampire began to convulse until Cas pulled out his blade, and then Lamont crumpled to the floor.

"Please tell me that killed the bastard," Dean said around coughs.

"I believe so," Cas replied, casting Dean a concerned look.

But Dean was more worried about his brother. He staggered to his feet and over to Sam, who was sitting on the floor holding a hand against his bleeding neck. "Sam, shit. How bad is it?"

"I'm okay, Dean," he said, slightly breathless, but sounding otherwise steady.

Dean pried his brother's hand away to get a look, and then let him resume applying pressure. "Doctor Robert is gonna start charging mileage."

Sam gave him a rueful smirk as Dean dug out a handkerchief and quickly pressed it to the wound. "Paul?"

They both looked over to where the third hunter's body lay on the ground. Cas was standing over him, expression unreadable.

Dean cursed under his breath, and helped pull Sam to his feet. They made their way over, getting a full view of Paul's sightless eyes staring into nothing, a large puddle of blood oozing out around his head. For several moments, none of them said anything.

Dean finally cleared his throat. "Cas, help Sam, would you? I'll take care of the bodies." He hesitated, glancing at Paul again. They should give him a hunter's funeral. Despite everything the guy had done, he deserved at least that.

* * *

Castiel trailed behind Sam as they exited the auto repair shop, watching carefully for any sign that the young Winchester was about to collapse from blood loss. Yet Sam remained steady on his feet, albeit hobbling slightly on his way over to the Impala where he opened the trunk and started digging through its contents. Castiel wasn't sure what he was even supposed to be doing to help.

Sam withdrew a first aid kit and fumbled to flip the lid open with only one hand, the other still firmly applying pressure to his neck wound.

"Here." Castiel quickly stepped closer to take over; he could do that much at least. He opened the kit, and then blinked dubiously at the various supplies contained within. "Um…"

He was woefully ill-equipped for this. As an angel, he could simply heal wounds with a touch of grace, and though that power had been lost months ago, he'd never realized how little he could actually do if the Winchesters were in need. They had cared for him in his weakness many times before, and here he could not do the same for them.

"See the antiseptic swabs there?" Sam said, no trace of impatience or exasperation in his tone. "We need to clean the wound first, and then there's a large patch of gauze you can tape over it until we get back to Bobby's."

Castiel almost muttered that Dean should be doing this; the older Winchester would certainly do a better job. But Castiel needed to learn. Especially if he was…human now. His skills as a warrior still made him dependable in battle, but he wanted Sam and Dean to be able to rely on him for other things, too. They looked out for each other, and that included more than just sword wielding.

Castiel tore open one of the swabs, and Sam removed the bandana from his neck. With blood smeared everywhere, it was a little difficult to determine how serious the injury was, so Castiel began wiping up the blood. Sam sucked in a sharp breath as soon as the antiseptic touched raw flesh, and Castiel jerked his hand away.

He gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry. I can get Dean…"

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine, Cas. It comes with the territory. Just clean it as quickly as you can, but still be thorough."

Castiel did not want to cause Sam more pain, but this needed to be done. He cautiously raised the wipe again. Sam's jaw clenched, but he didn't make a sound as Castiel resumed cleaning the area. When the swab turned red, Sam instructed him to use another one.

"Is it still bleeding?" Sam asked.

Castiel paused in his work to study the jagged wound. It wasn't as deep as it could have been, or as shredded as Castiel's own previous bite marks. "Only a little."

"Okay, good." Sam shifted in discomfort. "Tape a patch on."

Castiel grabbed one from the kit and ripped open the packaging. He struggled to peel off the paper from the sticky sides, though, and it ended up bunching together. He tried prying the sides apart, but the adhesive was rather binding.

"Just open another one," Sam said.

Castiel let out a frustrated breath through his nose. He was taking too long, and Sam's neck was starting to ooze blood again. And Castiel had wasted some of their supplies.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he opened another patch, this time being careful to peel the paper back a certain direction so it would come off smooth.

Sam gave him a small smile. "It's your first time doing field triage; it's okay."

Castiel shook his head as he laid the bandage over Sam's neck and gently ran his fingers along the edge to seal it down. "If you or Dean had been seriously hurt…"

"Dean and I can take a lot," Sam responded. "And we'll teach you how to stitch wounds and stuff."

To think it had only been a week ago that Castiel had decided he needed to learn trivial human practices such as using doors. Now he had no choice with that, and the things he needed to learn were more complicated and had far more reaching consequences if he couldn't do them right.

But, he knew Sam and Dean would help him adjust. And, Castiel could not imagine two better teachers for the challenges that lay ahead of him.

He crumpled up the used wrappers. "Is it okay?"

Sam reached up to feel the bandage, and nodded. "Thanks. Were you hurt?"

"No." Castiel half turned away to focus on organizing the first aid kit. He could feel Sam's probing gaze, and while his shoulder ached from getting thrown and his wrist from the vampire's bruising grip, those were minor and did not need doctoring. It would have been worse, though, if Paul had not jumped in when Lamont was about to snap Castiel's neck. That very well could have killed him, or at least permanently damaged his physical body. But Paul had distracted the vampire…and died instead.

Castiel didn't know how he felt about the man's death. Loss of life was common in Castiel's experience fighting epic, celestial battles. A few human casualties were nothing to spare a thought on, and certainly nothing to grieve. Even more, Paul had captured Castiel and handed him over to a monster to be ravaged and nearly killed. So it was not as though Castiel felt the hunter's death as a poignant loss, and yet, he did feel conflicted about it.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, eyeing him carefully.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "I'll go see if Dean needs assistance."

Sam didn't push, but he did end up accompanying Castiel back inside the auto shop, insisting that he was perfectly capable of helping with clean-up. Dean already had Lamont's body tossed in a metal garbage can and lit on fire. Paul was wrapped in a roll of grease-stained tarp Dean had taken off a car frame.

"Figured we'd give him a hunter's funeral back at Bobby's," Dean said gruffly.

Sam merely nodded, and went to get some shovels so they could bury Lamont's bones out back. That was hard, laborious work in a way Castiel had never experienced before. They hadn't even needed to dig a very deep hole for Lamont's burned remains, but Castiel's back and shoulders were aching from the repetitive bend and scoop motion.

Once that was done, he helped Dean carry Paul's wrapped body out to the Impala and place it in the trunk. Castiel once again slipped into the backseat, now that it was his own space again. The drive back to Bobby's was quiet, a somber cloud hanging over the three of them. Back at the salvage yard, they wordlessly started gathering wood to construct a funeral pyre, and when it was ready, they laid Paul on top of it. Bobby came out to join them as they lit the pyre.

The flames crackled and snapped as they consumed the kindling and rose up to engulf the tarp concealing Paul's body. No one said anything, though Castiel thought it was customary for someone to say a few words over the deceased.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Paul…started out with good intentions."

Dean snorted under his breath, and Sam shot his brother a sharp glare. Castiel ducked his gaze to the fire.

"He made mistakes," Sam picked up. "We've all been there. But he came through in the end."

Castiel's jaw tightened.

"His death wasn't your fault," Sam leaned in to whisper.

"It feels like it was."

Sam shook his head. "That's the job. It comes with hunting, with choosing to fight the Apocalypse."

Castiel stared at the writhing flames as they devoured the mortal shell that had once housed Paul's soul. Had it gone to Heaven? Or…not? And now that Castiel was mostly human, where would he go in death?

"Paul just wanted to stop the Devil," Dean finally spoke up. "And there are probably others out there trying to do the same. But we're the only ones who really know what we're up against." He hesitated, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "So it's time we button down and figure out a way."

Sam and Bobby nodded in silent agreement.

Castiel felt a brief flash of panic. How could he be of any help now that he'd completely lost his powers? How could he expect Sam and Dean to take the time to guide him in his newfound humanity when such a monumental challenge lay before them? It was too much. They were all only mortal, after all.

"Because if anyone's got a real, fighting chance," Dean continued. "It's us. Team Free Will."

Sam's lips twitched, while Bobby rolled his eyes.

Castiel looked between the three humans, and was surprised when each of them returned his gaze with looks of solidarity, strength of resolve, and staunch support. They believed in each other. In family. And as long as they kept such faith, perhaps they could move mountains.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's followed this story and its verse! Final shout-out to 29Pieces for beta reading too. ^_^  
Monday I plan to start posting my post-season 11 AU exploring Cas's recovery after Lucifer's possession. It is going to be full of angst and pain, but that also means lots of comfort to go with it. Hope to see you all there!**


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